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PHILIP  GILBERT  HAMERTON 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 
1834—1858 

AND  A MEMOIR  BY  HIS  WIFE 
1858 — 1894 


#*  Intellectual  living  is  not  so  much  an  accomplishment  as  a state  or  condi- 
tion of  the  mind  in  which  it  seeks  earnestly  for  the  highest  and  purest  truth. 
...  If  we  often  blunder  and  fail  for  want  of  perfect  wisdom  and  clear  light, 
have  we  not  the  inward  assurance  that  our  aspiration  has  not  been  all  in  vain, 
that  it  has  brought  us  a little  nearer  to  the  Supreme  Intellect  whose  effulgence 
draws  us  while  it  dazzles?  ” — The  Intellectual  Life. 


PHILIP  GILBERT 
HAMERTON 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 
1834—1858 


AND  A MEMOIR  BY  HIS  WIFE 
1858 — 1894 


rattfj  a Portrait 


BOSTON 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS 
1896 


Copyright , 1896, 

By  Roberts  Brothers. 

Ail  rights  reserved 


Sanitettg  ^ress: 

John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge,  U.S.A. 


PKEFACE. 


About  twelve  years  ago  my  husband  told  me  that  he 
had  begun  to  write  an  Autobiography  intended  for  pub- 
lication, but  not  during  his  lifetime.  He  worked  upon  it 
at  intervals,  as  his  literary  engagements  permitted,  but  I 
found  after  his  sudden  death  that  he  had  only  been  able 
to  carry  it  as  far  as  his  twenty-fourth  year.  Such  a frag- 
ment seemed  too  brief  for  separate  publication,  and  I 
earnestly  desired  to  supplement  it  by  a Memoir,  and  thus 
to  give  to  those  who  knew  and  loved  his  books  a more 
complete  understanding  of  his  character  and  career.  But 
though  I longed  for  this  satisfaction  and  solace,  the  task 
seemed  beyond  my  power,  especially  as  it  involved  the 
difficulty  of  writing  in  a foreign  language.  Considering, 
however,  that  the  Autobiography  was  carried,  as  it  hap- 
pened, up  to  the  date  of  our  marriage,  and  that  I could 
therefore  relate  all  the  subsequent  life  from  intimate 
knowledge,  as  no  one  else  could,  I was  encouraged  by 
many  of  Mr.  Hamerton’s  admirers  to  make  the  attempt, 
and  with  the  great  and  untiring  help  of  his  best  friend, 
Mr.  Seeley,  I have  been  enabled  to  complete  the  Memoir 
— such  as  it  is. 

I offer  my  sincere  thanks  to  Mr.  Sidney  Colvin  and  to 
his  co-executor  for  having  allowed  the  insertion  of  Mr. 
R L.  Stevenson’s  letters ; to  Mr.  Barrett  Browning  for 
those  of  his  father ; to  Sir  George  and  Lady  Reid,  Mr. 


VI 


PREFACE. 


Watts,  Mr.  Peter  Graham,  and  Mr.  Burlingame  for  their 
own. 

I also  beg  Mr.  A.  H.  Palmer  to  accept  the  expression 
of  my  gratitude  for  his  kind  permission  to  use  as  a 
frontispiece  to  this  book  the  fine  photograph  taken  by 
him. 


September , 1896. 


E.  Hamerton. 


CONTENTS, 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

CHAPTER  L 

PAGE 

My  reasons  for  writing  an  Autobiography.  — That  a man  knows  the 
history  of  his  own  life  better  than  a biographer  can  know  it.  — 
Frankness  and  reserve.  — The  contemplation  of  death  ....  1 

CHAPTER  IL 

1834. 

My  birthplace.  — My  father  and  mother.  — Circumstances  of  their 
marriage.  — Their  short  married  life.  — Birth  of  their  child.  — 
Death  of  my  mother.  — Her  character  and  habits.  — My  father  as 
a widower.  — Dulness  of  his  life.  — Its  degradation 4 

CHAPTER  m. 

1835-1841. 

My  childhood  is  passed  at  Burnley  with  my  aunts.  — My  grandfather 
and  grandmother.  — Estrangement  between  Gilbert  Hamerton 
and  his  brother  of  Hellifield  Peel.  — Death  of  Gilbert  Hamerton. 

— His  taste  for  the  French  language.  — His  travels  in  Portugal, 


and  the  conduct  of  a steward  during  his  absence.  — His  three 
sons.  — Aristocratic  tendencies  of  his  daughters.  — Beginning  of 
my  education. — Visits  to  my  father 14 


CHAPTER  IV. 

1842. 

A tour  in  Wales  in  1842.  — Extracts  from  my  Journal  of  this  tour.  — 

My  inborn  love  for  beautiful  materials.  — Stay  at  Rhyl.  — 
Anglesea  and  Caernarvon.  — Reasons  for  specially  remembering 
this  tour 21 


yiii 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  V. 

1843-1844. 

PAQE 

A painful  chapter  to  write.  — My  father  calls  me  home.  — What  kind 
of  a house  it  was.  — Paternal  education  and  discipline. — My  life 
at  that  time  one  of  dulness  varied  by  dread 26 


CHAPTER  VI. 

1844. 

My  extreme  loneliness.  — Thoughts  of  flight.  — My  father’s  last  illness 
and  death.  — Circumstances  of  my  last  interview  with  him.  — His 
funeral 33 


CHAPTER  VII. 

1845. 

Dislike  to  Shaw  in  consequence  of  the  dreadful  life  I lead  there  with 
my  father.  — My  guardian.  — Her  plan  for  my  education.  — Don- 
caster School.  — Mr.  Cape  and  his  usher.  — The  usher’s  intoler- 
ance of  Dissenters.  — My  feeling  for  architecture  and  music.  — 

The  drawing-master.  — My  guardian  insists  on  my  learning 
French.  — Our  French  master,  Sig.  Testa.  — A painful  incident. 

— I begin  to  learn  the  violin.  — Dancing.  — My  aversion  to  cricket. 

— Early  readings.  — Love  of  Scott.  — My  first  library.  — Classical 
studies 39 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

1845. 

Early  attempts  in  English  verse.  — Advantages  of  life  at  Doncaster.  — 

A school  incident.  — Fagging.  — Story  of  a dog.  — Robbery.  — 

My  school-fellow  Henry  Alexander.  — His  remarkable  influence. 

— Other  school-fellows.  — Story  of  a boat.  — A swimming  ad- 
venture.— Our  walks  and  battles 51 


CHAPTER  IX. 

1846. 

Early  interest  in  theology.  — Reports  of  sermons.  — Quiet  influence 
of  Mr  Cape.  — Failure  of  Mr.  Cape’s  health.  — His  death  . . 61 


CONTENTS. 


ix 


CHAPTER  X. 

1847-1849. 

PAGE 

My  education  becomes  less  satisfactory.  — My  guardian’s  state  of 
health.  — I pursue  my  studies  at  Burnley.  — Dr.  Butler.  — He 
encourages  me  to  write  English.  — Extract  from  a prize  poem.  — 
Public  discussions  in  Burnley  School.  — A debate  on  Queen 
Elizabeth 64 


CHAPTER  XI. 

1850. 

My  elder  uncle.  — We  go  to  live  at  Hollins.  — Description  of  the  place. 

— My  strong  attachment  to  it.  — My  first  experiment  in  art- 
criticism.  — The  stream  at  Hollins.  — My  first  catamaran.  — Simi- 
larity of  my  life  at  Hollins  to  my  life  in  France  thirty-six  years 
later 70 


CHAPTER  XII. 

1850. 

Interest  in  the  Middle  Ages.  — Indifference  to  the  Greeks  and  Romans. 

— Love  for  Sir  Walter  Scott’s  writings.  — Interest  in  heraldry 
and  illuminations.  — Passion  for  hawking.  — Old  books  in  the 
school  library  at  Burnley. — Mr.  Edward  Alexander  of  Halifax. 

— Attempts  in  literary  composition.  — Contributions  to  the 
“ Historic  Times.”  — “ Rome  in  1849.”  — “ Observations  on 
Heraldry  ” 75 

CHAPTER  Xm. 

1850. 

Political  and  religious  opinions  of  my  relations.  — The  Rev.  James 
Bardsley.  — Protestant  controversy  with  Rome. — German  neology. 

— The  inspiration  of  the  Scriptures.  — Inquiry  into  foundation 
for  the  doctrine.  — I cease  to  be  a Protestant.  — An  alternative 
presents  itself.  — A provisional  condition  of  prolonged  inquiry.  — 

Our  medical  adviser.  — His  remarkable  character.  — His  opinions  80 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

1851. 

First  visit  to  London  in  1851.  — My  first  impression  of  the  place.  — 
Nostalgia  of  the  country.  — Westminster. — The  Royal  Academy. 

— Resolution  never  to  go  to  London  again.  — Reason  why  this 
resolution  was  afterwards  broken 88 


X 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

1851-1852. 

PAGE 

The  love  of  reading  a hindrance  to  classical  studies.  — Dr.  Butler 
becomes  anxious  about  my  success  at  Oxford.  — An  insuperable 
obstacle.  — My  indifference  to  degrees.  — Irksome  hypocrisy.  — I 
am  nearly  sent  to  a tutor  at  Brighton.  — I go  to  a tutor  in  York- 
shire. — His  disagreeable  disposition.  — Incident  about  riding. — 
Disastrous  effect  of  my  tutor’s  intellectual  influence  upon  me.  — 

My  private  reading.  — My  tutor’s  ignorance  of  modern  authors.  — 

His  ignorance  of  the  fine  arts.  — His  religious  intolerance.  — I 
declare  my  inability  to  sign  the  Thirty-nine  Articles  ....  91 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

1852. 

Choice  of  a profession.  — Love  of  literature  and  art.  — Decision  to 
make  trial  of  both.  — An  equestrian  tour.  — Windermere.  — Der- 
wentwater.  — I take  lessons  from  Mr.  J.  P.  Pettitt.  — Ulleswater. 

— My  horse  turf.  — Greenock,  a discovery.  — My  unsettled  cousin. 

— Glasgow.  — Loch  Lomond.  — Inverary.  — Loch  Awe.  — Inis- 
hail.  — Innistrynich.  — Oban.  — A sailing  excursion.  — Mull  and 
Ulva.  — Solitary  reading  100 

CHAPTER  XVII. 


1853. 

A journal.  — Self-training.  — Attempts  in  periodical  literature.  — The 
time  given  to  versification  well  spent.  — Practical  studies  in  art.  — 
Beginning  of  Mr.  Ruskin’s  influence.  — Difficulty  in  finding  a 
master  in  landscape-painting.  — Establishment  of  the  militia.  — I 
accept  a commission.  — Our  first  training.  — Our  colonel  and  our 
adjutant. — The  Grand  Llama.  — Paying  off  the  men  . . . .113 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

1853. 

A project  for  studying  in  Paris.  — Reading.  — A healthy  life.  — 
Quinsy. — My  most  intimate  friend 121 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

1853. 

London  again.  — Accurate  habits  in  employment  of  time.  — Studies 
with  Mr  Pettitt.  — Some  account  of  my  new  master.  — His  method 
of  technical  teaching.  — Simplicity  of  his  philosophy  of  art.  — r 
Incidents  of  his  life.  — Rapid  progress  under  Pettitt’s  direction  . 124 


CONTENTS. 


xi 


CHAPTER  XX. 

1653-1854. 

PAGE 

Acquaintance  with  R.  W.  Mackay.  — His  learning  and  accomplish- 
ments. — His  principal  pursuit.  — His  qualities  as  a writer.  — 
Value  of  the  artistic  element  in  literature.  — C.  R.  Leslie,  R.  A. 

— Robinson,  the  line-engraver.  — The  Constable  family.  — Mis- 
taken admiration  for  minute  detail.  — Projected  journey  to  Egypt. 

— Mr.  Ruskin.  — Bonomi.  — Samuel  Sharpe.  — Tennyson  . . 131 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

1854. 

A Visit  to  Rogers.  — His  Home.  — Geniality  in  poets.  — Talfourd.  — 

* Sir  Walter  Scott.  — Leslie’s  picture,  “ The  Rape  of  the  Lock.”  — 
George  Leslie.  — Robert  Leslie.  — His  nautical  instincts.  — Wat- 
kiss  Lloyd.  — Landseer.  — Harding.  — Richard  Doyle  . . .138 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

1854. 

Miss  Marian  Evans. — John  Chapman,  the  publisher. — My  friend 
William  Shaw.  — His  brother  Richard.  — Mead,  the  tragedian.  — 

Mrs.  Rowan  and  her  daughter.  — A vexatious  incident.  — I suffer 
from  nostalgia  for  the  country 146 

CHAPTER  XXm. 

1854. 

Some  of  my  relations  emigrate  to  New  Zealand.  — Difficulties  of  a 
poor  gentleman.  — My  uncle’s  reasons  for  emigration.  — His  de- 
parture.— Family  separations.  — Our  love  for  Hollins  . . . 152 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

1854. 

Resignation  of  commission  in  the  militia.  — Work  from  nature.  — 
Spenser,  the  poet.  — Hurstwood.  — Loch  Awe  revisited.  — A cus- 
tomer. — I determine  to  learn  French  well.  — A tour  in  Wales.  — 
Swimming.  — Coolness  on  account  of  my  religious  beliefs.  — My 
guardian.  — Evil  effects  of  religious  bigotry.  — Refuge  in  work. 

— My  drawing-master.  — Our  excursion  in  Craven 157 


Xll 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

1855. 

Publication  of  “ The  Isles  of  Loch  Awe  and  other  Poems.”  — Their 
sale.  — Advice  to  poetic  aspirants.  — Mistake  in  illustrating  my 
book  of  verse.  — Its  subsequent  history.  — W ant  of  art  in  the 
book.  — Too  much  reality.  — Abandonment  of  verse.  — A critic  in 
“Fraser.”  — Visit  to  Paris  in  1855.  — Captain  Turnbull.  — Ball 
at  the  Hotel  de  Ville. — Louis  Napoleon  and  Victor  Emmanuel  . 164 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

1855. 

Thackeray’s  family  in  Paris.  — Madame  Mohl.  — Her  husband’s  en- 
couraging theory  about  learning  languages.  — Mr.  Scholey.  — His 
friend,  William  Wyld.  — An  Indian  in  Europe.  — An  Italian  ad- 
venturess. — Important  meeting  with  an  American.  — Its  con- 
sequences. — I go  to  a French  hotel.  — People  at  the  table  d'hote. 

— M.  Victor  Ouvrard.  — His  claim  on  the  Emperor.  — M.  Gin- 
driez.  — His  family.  — His  eldest  daughter 170 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

1856. 

Specialities  in  painting.  — Wyld’s  practice.  — Projected  voyage  on 
the  Loire.  — Birth  of  the  Prince  Imperial.  — Scepticism  about 


his  inheritance  of  the  crown. — The  Imperial  family.  — I return 
home.  — Value  of  the  French  language  to  me 181 


CHAPTER  XXVin. 

1856. 

My  first  encampment  in  Lancashire.  — Value  of  encamping  as  a part 
of  educational  discipline.  — Happy  days  in  camp.  — The  natural 
and  the  artificial  in  landscape.  — Sir  James  Kay  Shuttleworth’s 
Exhibition  project.  — I decline  to  take  an  active  part  in  it. 
His  energetic  and  laborious  disposition.  — Charlotte  Bronte. 
General  Scarlett 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

I visit  the  homes  of  my  forefathers  at  Hamerton,  Wigglesworth,  and 
HellifieldPeel.  — Attainder  and  execution  of  Sir  Stephen  Hamer- 
ton. — Return  of  Hellitield  Peel  to  the  family.  — Sir  Richard.  — 


CONTENTS . 


xiu 


PAGE 

The  Hamertons  distinguished  only  for  marrying  heiresses.  — An- 
other visit  to  the  Peel,  when  I see  my  father’s  cousin.  — Nearness 
of  Hellifield  Peel  and  Hollins  190 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

1857. 

Expedition  to  the  Highlands  in  1857.  — Kindness  of  the  Marquis  of 
Breadalbane  and  others.  — Camp  life,  its  strong  and  peculiar 
attraction.  — My  servant.  — Young  Helliwell.  — Scant  supplies  in 
the  camp.  — Nature  of  the  camp.  — Necessity  for  wooden  floors 
in  a bad  climate.  — Double-hulled  boats.  — Practice  of  landscape- 
painting.— Changes  of  effect.  — Influences  that  governed  my 
way  of  study  in  those  days.  — Attractive  character  of  the  Scot- 
tish 'Highlands.  — Their  scenery  not  well  adapted  for  beginners. 

— My  intense  love  of  it 195 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

1857-1858. 

Small  immediate  results  of  the  expedition  to  the  Highlands. — Un- 
suitable system  of  work.  — Loss  of  time.  — I rent  the  house  and 
island  of  Innistrynich.  — My  dread  of  marriage  and  the  reasons 
for  it.  — Notwithstanding  this  I make  an  offer  and  am  refused.  — 
Two  young  ladies  of  my  acquaintance.  — Idea  of  a foreign  mar- 
riage. — Its  inconveniences.  — Decision  to  ask  for  the  hand  of 
Mdlle.  Gindriez.  — I go  to  Paris  and  am  accepted.  — Elective 
affinities 202 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

1858. 

Reception  at  home  after  engagement.  — Preparations  at  Innistrynich. 
— I arrive  alone  in  Paris.  — My  marriage.  — The  religious  cere- 
mony. — An  uncomfortable  wedding.  — The  sea  from  Dieppe.  — 
London.  — The  Academy  Exhibition  of  1858.  — Impressions  of  a 
Erench woman. — The  Turner  collection.  — The  town. — Loch 
Awe.  — The  element  wanting  to  happiness 


210 


xiv 


CONTENTS. 


MEMOIR. 


CHAPTER  L 
1858. 

PAGE 

My  first  sight  of  Loch  Awe.  — Arrival  at  Innistrynich.  — Our  domestic 
life.  — Difficulties  about  provisions.  — A kitchen-garden  . . .219 


CHAPTER  II. 

1858. 

Money  matters.  — Difficulties  about  servants.  — Expensiveness  of  our 
mode  of  life 229 


CHAPTER  in. 

1858. 

Painting  from  nature.  — Project  of  an  exhibition.  — Photography.  — 


Plan  of  “ A Painter’s  Camp.”  — Topographic  art.  — Charm  of 
our  life  in  the  Highlands 233 


CHAPTER  IV. 

1858. 

English  and  French  manners  — My  husband’s  relatives.  — First  jour- 
ney to  France  after  our  marriage.  — Friends  in  London.  — Miss 
Susan  Hamerton 238 


CHAPTER  V. 

1859. 

Visits  from  friends  and  relatives.  — A Frenchman  in  the  Highlands.  — 
Project  of  buying  the  island  of  Innistrynich 247 


CONTENTS. 


xv 


CHAPTER  VI 
1859-1860. 

PAGE 

Financial  complications.  — Summer  visitors.  — Boats  and  boating.  — 
Visit  to  Paris.  — W.  Wyld. — Project  of  a farm  in  France. — 
Partnership  with  M.  Gindriez  259 

CHAPTER  VII. 

1861-1863. 

Effects  of  the  Highland  climate.  — Farewell  to  Loch  Awe.  — Journey 
to  the  south  of  France.  — Death  of  Miss  Mary  Hamerton.  — Settle- 
ment at  Sens.  — Death  of  M.  Gindriez.  — Publication  of  “ A 
Painter's  Camp.”  — Removal  to  Pre-Charmoy 270 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

1863-1868. 

Canoeing  on  the  Unknown  River.  — Visit  of  relatives. — Tour  in 
Switzerland.  — Experiments  in  etching.  — The  “ Saturday  Re- 
view.” — Journeys  to  London.  — Plan  of  “ Etching  and  Etchers.” 

— New  friends  in  London.  — Etching  exhibited  at  the  Royal 
Academy.  — Serious  illness  in  London.  — George  Eliot.  — Pro- 
fessor Seeley  287 


CHAPTER  IX. 

1868. 

Studies  of  animals.  — A strange  visitor.  — Illness  at  Amiens.  — Resig- 
nation of  post  on  the  “ Saturday  Review.”  — Nervous  seizure  in 
railway  train.  — Mrs.  Craik.  — Publication  of  “ Etching  and 
Etchers.”  — Tennyson.  — Growing  reputation  in  America  . . .323 

CHAPTER  X. 

1869-1870. 

“ Wenderholme.”  — The  Mont  Beuvrav.  — Botanical  studies.  — La 
Tuilerie.  — Commencement  of  “ The  Portfolio.”  — The  Franco- 
PrussianWar 344 


CHAPTER  XL 
1870-1872. 

Landscape-painting. — Letters  of  Mr.  Peter  Graham,  R.  A.  — Inci- 
dents of  the  war-time.  — “ The  Intellectual  Life.”  — “ The 
Etcher’s  Handbook  ” 364 


XVI 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

1873-1875. 

PAGE 

Popularity  of  “ The  Intellectual  Life.”  — Love  of  animals.  — English 
visitors.  — Technical  notes.  — Sir  E.  Seymour  Haden.  — Attempts 
to  resume  railway  travelling 375 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

1876-1877. 

“ Round  my  House.”  — Journey  to  England  after  seven  years’ 
absence.  — Visit  to  Mr.  Samuel  Palmer.  — Articles  for  the  “ En- 
cyclopaedia Britannica.”  — Death  of  my  sister.  — Mr.  Appleton  . 390 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

1878-1880. 

“ Marmorne.”  — Paris  International  Exhibition.  — “ Modern  French- 
men.”— Candidature  for  the  Watson  Gordon  Chair  of  Fine 
Arts.  — The  Bishop  of  Autun.  — The  “ Life  of  Turner  ”...  408 

CHAPTER  XV. 

1880-1882. 

Third  edition  of  “Etching  and  Etchers.”  — Kew.  — The  “ Graphic 

Arts.”  — “ Human  Intercourse  ” 429 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

1882-1884. 

“Paris.”  — Miss  Susan  Hamerton’s  death. — Burnley  revisited. — 
Hellifield  Peel.  — “ Landscape  ” planned.  — Voyage  to  Marseilles  454 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

1884-1888. 

“ Landscape.”  — The  Autobiography  begun.  — “ Imagination  in  Land- 
scape Painting.”  — “ The  Saone.”  — “ Portfolio  Papers  ” . . .481 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

1888-1890. 

“ Man  in  Art  ” begun.  — Family  events.  — Mr.  G.  F.  Watts.  — Mr. 
Bodley.  — “French  and  English” 


504 


CONTENTS. 


xvii 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

1890-1891. 

PAGE 

Decision  to  live  near  Paris.  — Practice  in  painting  and  etching.  — 
Search  for  a house.  — Clematis 530 


CHAPTER  XX. 

1891-1894. 

Removal  to  Paris.  — Interest  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  — M.  Vierge.  — 
“Man  in  Art.”  — Contributions  to  “Scribner’s  Magazine.”  — 
New  form  of  “ The  Portfolio.”  — Honorary  degree.  — Last  Jour- 
ney to  London.  — Society  of  Illustrators.  — Illness  and  death  . 539 


/ 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

OF 

PHILIP  GILBERT  HAMERTON 


1834  — 1858 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


OF 

PHILIP  GILBERT  HAMERTON. 


CHAPTER  I. 

My  reasons  for  writing  an  autobiography.  — That  a man  knows  the  his- 
tory of  his  own  life  better  than  a biographer  can  know  it.  — Frankness 
and  reserve.  — The  contemplation  of  death. 

My  principal  reasons  for  writing  an  autobiography  are  because 
I am  the  only  person  in  the  world  who  knows  enough  about 
my  history  to  give  a truthful  account  of  it,  and  because  I dread 
the  possibility  of  falling  into  the  hands  of  some  writer  who 
might  attempt  a biography  with  inadequate  materials.  I have 
already  been  selected  as  a subject  by  two  or  three  biographers 
with  very  friendly  intentions,  but  their  friendliness  did  not 
always  ensure  accuracy.  When  the  materials  are  not  supplied 
in  abundance,  a writer  will  eke  them  out  with  conjectural  ex- 
pressions which  he  only  intends  as  an  amplification,  yet  which 
may  contain  germs  of  error  to  be  in  their  turn  amplified  by 
some  other  writer,  and  made  more  extensively  erroneous. 

It  has  frequently  been  said  that  an  autobiography  must  of 
necessity  be  an  untrue  representation  of  its  subject,  as  no  man 
can  judge  himself  correctly.  If  it  is  intended  to  imply  that 
somebody  else,  having  a much  slighter  acquaintance  with  the 
man  whose  life  is  to  be  narrated,  would  produce  a more  truth- 
ful book,  one  may  be  permitted  to  doubt  the  validity  of  the 
inference.  Thousands  of  facts  are  known  to  a man  himself 
with  reference  to  his  career,  and  a multitude  of  determinant 

1 


2 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


motives,  which  are  not  known  even  to  his  most  intimate 
friends,  still  less  to  the  stranger  who  so  often  undertakes  the 
biography.  The  reader  of  an  autobiography  has  this  additional 
advantage,  that  the  writer  must  be  unconsciously  revealing 
himself  all  along,  merely  by  his  way  of  telling  things. 

With  regard  to  the  great  question  of  frankness  and  reserve, 
I hold  that  the  reader  has  a fair  claim  to  hear  the  truth,  as  a 
biography  is  not  avowedly  a romance,  but  at  the  same  time 
that  it  is  right  to  maintain  a certain  reserve.  My  rule  shall 
be  to  say  nothing  that  can  hurt  the  living,  and  the  memory  of 
the  dead  shall  be  dealt  with  as  tenderly  as  may  be  compatible 
with  a truthful  account  of  the  influences  that  have  impelled  me 
in  one  direction  or  another. 

I have  all  the  more  kindly  feelings  towards  the  dead,  that 
when  these  pages  appear  I shall  be  one  of  themselves,  and 
therefore  unable  to  defend  my  own  memory  as  they  are  unable 
to  defend  theirs. 

The  notion  of  being  a dead  man  is  not  entirely  displeasing 
to  me.  If  the  dead  are  defenceless,  they  have  this  compen- 
sating advantage,  that  nobody  can  inflict  upon  them  any  sen- 
sible injury;  and  in  beginning  a book  which  is  not  to  see  the 
light  until  I am  lying  comfortably  in  my  grave,  with  six  feet 
of  earth  above  me  to  deaden  the  noises  of  the  upper  world,  I 
feel  quite  a new  kind  of  security,  and  write  with  a more  com- 
plete freedom  from  anxiety  about  the  quality  of  the  work  than 
has  been  usual  at  the  beginning  of  other  manuscripts. 

Nevertheless,  the  clear  and  steady  contemplation  of  death 
(I  have  been  looking  the  grim  king  in  the  face  for  the  last 
hour)  may  produce  a paralyzing  effect  upon  a man  by  making 
his  life’s  work  seem  very  small  to  him.  For,  whatever  we 
believe  about  a future  state,  it  is  evident  that  the  catastrophe 
of  death  must  throw  each  of  us  instantaneously  into  the  past, 
from  the  point  of  view  of  the  living,  and  they  will  see  what 
we  have  done  in  a very  foreshortened  aspect,  so  that  except 
in  a few  very  rare  cases  it  must  look  small  to  them,  and  ever 
smaller  as  time  rolls  on,  and  they  will  probably  not  think 
much  of  it,  or  remember  us  long  on  account  of  it.  And  in 
thinking  of  ourselves  as  dead  we  instinctively  adopt  the  sur- 


A UTOBIO  GRAPHY. 


3 


vivor’s  point  of  view.  Besides  which,  it  is  reasonable  to  sup- 
pose that  whatever  fate  may  be  in  store  for  us,  a greater  or 
less  degree  of  posthumous  reputation  in  two  or  three  nations 
on  this  planet  can  have  little  effect  on  our  future  satisfaction ; 
for  if  we  go  to  heaven,  the  beatitude  of  the  life  there  will  be 
so  incomparably  superior  to  the  pleasures  of  earthly  fame  that 
we  shall  never  think  of  such  vanity  again ; and  if  we  go  to  the 
place  of  eternal  tortures  they  will  leave  us  no  time  to  console 
ourselves  with  pleasant  memories  of  any  kind;  and  if  death  is 
simply  the  ending  of  all  sensation,  all  thought,  memory,  and 
consciousness,  it  will  matter  nothing  to  a handful  of  dust  what 
estimate  of  the  name  it  once  bore  may  happen  to  be  current 
amongst  the  living  — 

“ Les  grands  Dieux  savent  seuls  si  Tame  est  immortelle, 

Mais  le  juste  travaille  a leur  oeuvre  eternelle.” 


4 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


CHAPTER  II. 

1834. 

My  birthplace — My  father  and  mother.  — Circumstances  of  their  mar- 
riage. — Their  short  married  life.  — Birth  of  their  child.  — Death  of 
my  mother.  — Her  character  and  habits.  — My  father  as  a widower.  — 
Dulness  of  his  life.  — Its  degradation. 

I was  born  at  Laneside  near  Shaw,  which  is  now  a manufac- 
turing town  of  some  importance  about  two  miles  from  Oldham 
in  Lancashire,  and  about  four  miles  from  Rochdale  in  the  same 
county. 

Laneside  is  a small  estate  with  some  houses  and  a little 
cotton-mill  upon  it,  which  belonged  to  my  maternal  grand- 
father. The  house  is  of  stone,  with  a roof  of  stone  slate  such 
as  is  usual  in  those  parts,  and  it  faces  the  road,  from  which  it 
is  separated  by  a little  enclosure,  that  may  be  called  a garden 
if  you  will.  When  I was  a child,  there  were  two  or  three 
poplar  trees  in  that  enclosure  before  the  house ; but  trees  do 
not  prosper  there,  and  now  there  is  probably  not  one  on  the 
whole  estate.  One  end  of  the  house  (which  is  rather  long  for 
its  height  and  depth)  abuts  against  the  hill,  and  close  behind 
it  is  the  cotton-mill  which  my  grandfather  worked,  with  no 
great  profit  to  himself  or  advantage  to  his  descendants.  I 
have  mentioned  a road  that  passes  the  house;  it  is  steep, 
narrow,  and  inconvenient.  It  leads  up  to  an  elevated  tract  of 
the  most  dreary  country  that  can  be  imagined,  but  there  are  one 
or  two  fields  on  the  Laneside  estate,  above  the  stone-quarry, 
from  which  there  is  a good  view  in  the  direction  of  Rochdale. 

I never  knew  my  grandfather  Cocker,  but  have  heard  that 
he  was  a lively  and  vigorous  man,  who  enjoyed  life  very 
heartily  in  his  way.  He  married  a Miss  Crompton,  who  had 
a little  property  and  was  descended  from  the  De  Cromptons 
of  Crompton  Hall.  I am  not  aware  that  she  had  any  family 
pride,  but,  like  most  people  in  that  neighborhood,  she  had  a 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


5 


great  appreciation  of  the  value  of  money,  and  when  she  was 
left  alone  with  her  daughter,  in  consequence  of  Philip  Cocker’s 
premature  death,  she  was  more  inclined  to  favor  wealthy 
than  impecunious  suitors.  , ^ 

My  father  had  come  to  Shaw  as  a young  attorney  some  time 
before  he  asked  for  Anne  Cocker  in  marriage.  He  had  very 
little  to  recommend  him  except  a fine  person,  great  physical 
strength,  and  fifteen  quarterings.  He  had  a reputation  for 
rather  dissolute  habits,  was  a good  horseman,  an  excellent 
shot,  looked  very  well  in  a ball-room,  and  these,  I believe,  were 
all  his  advantages,  save  an  unhappy  faculty  for  shining  in  such 
masculine  company  as  ho  could  find  in  a Lancashire  village 
in  the  days  of  George  IV.  Money  he  had  none,  except  what 
he  earned  in  his  profession,  at  one  time  rather  a good  income. 

Miss  Anne  Cocker  was  a young  lady  with  a will  of  her  own, 
associated,  I have  been  told  (the  two  characteristics  are  by 
no  means  incompatible),  with  a very  sweet  and  amiable  dis- 
position. At  a time  when  my  grandmother  still  vigorously 
opposed  the  match  with  my  father,  there  happened  to  be  a 
public  charity  ball  in  Shaw,  and  Miss  Cocker  showed  her 
intentions  in  a very  decided  manner,  by  declining  to  dance 
with  several  gentlemen  until  the  young  lawyer  presented  him- 
self, when  she  rose  immediately  with  a very  gracious  smile, 
which  was  observed  by  all  near  enough  to  witness  it.  This 
was  rather  unkind  perhaps  to  the  other  aspirants,  and  is,  in 
fact,  scarcely  defensible,  but  it  was  Miss  Cocker’s  way  of 
declaring  her  intentions  publicly.  When  my  father  made  his 
offer,  he  was  refused  by  my  grandmother’s  orders,  but  received 
encouragement  from  her  daughter  (a  tone  of  voice,  or  a look, 
yet  more  a tear,  would  be  enough  for  a lover’s  hope),  and 
counted  upon  the  effects  of  perseverance.  At  length,  when 
he  and  Miss  Cocker  thought  they  had  waited  long  enough, 
they  determined  to  marry  without  Mrs.  Cocker’s  consent,  and 
the  determination  was  notified  to  my  grandmother  in  the 
following  very  decided  terms : — 

“ Dr.  Madam,  — You  are  no  doubt  well  aware  of  the  warm 
attachment  which  has  long  existed  betwixt  your  dear  daughter 
and  myself.  Upwards  of  twelve  months  ago  our  affections  were 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


6 

immovably  fixed  upon  each  other,  and  I now  consider  it  my  duty 
to  inform  you  that  we  are  fully  engaged,  and  have  finally  con- 
cluded to  be  married  within  a fortnight  of  the  present  time. 

“ I sincerely  trust  that  all  your  hostile  feelings  towards  me  are 
entirely  worn  out,  and  that  you  will  receive  me  as  the  affectionate 
husband  of  your  beloved  daughter,  and  I with  great  confidence 
hope  we  shall  be  a happy  family  and  live  together  with  peace  and 
harmony. 

“ At  my  request  your  daughter  will  have  all  her  property  settled 
upon  herself,  so  that  I can  have  no  control  over  it  — thus  leaving 
it  impossible  that  I should  waste  it.  And  I trust  that  by  an  active 
attention  to  my  profession  I may  be  enabled  not  inconsiderably  to 
augment  it. 

“ Be  assured,  Dear  Madam,  that  your  daughter  and  myself  feel 
no  little  solicitude  for  your  comfort  and  happiness,  and  that  we 
shall  at  all  times  be  most  happy  to  promote  them. 

“ It  is  our  mutual  and  most  anxious  wish  that  you  should  not 
attempt  to  throw  any  obstacle  in  the  way  of  our  marriage,  as  the 
only  tendency  it  could  have  under  present  circumstances  would  be 
to  lessen  the  happiness  and  comfort  of  our  union. 

“ We  trust  therefore  that  your  regard  for  your  daughter’s  hap- 
piness will  induce  you  at  once  to  give  your  full  assent  to  the 
fulfilment  of  our  engagement,  as  you  would  thereby  divest  our 
marriage  of  all  that  could  possibly  lessen  the  happiness  we 
anticipate  from  it. 

“I  know  that  your  principal  objection  to  me  has  been  on 
account  of  my  unsteadiness,  and  I deeply  regret  ever  having 
given  you  cause  to  raise  such  an  objection ; but  I trust  my  con- 
duct for  some  time  back  having  been  of  a very  different  character, 
will  convince  you  that  I have  seen  my  error.  The  gayety  into 
which  I have  fallen  may  partly  be  ascribed  to  the  peculiarity  of 
my  situation ; having  no  relations  near  me,  no  family  ties,  no  do- 
mestic comforts,  &c.,  I may  be  the  more  excusable  for  having  kept 
the  company  of  young  men,  but  I can  assure  you  I have  lost  all 
inclination  for  the  practice  of  such  follies  as  I have  once  fallen 
into,  and  I look  to  a steady,  sober  married  life  as  alone  calculated 
to  afford  me  happiness. 

“ I will  wait  upon  you  on  Monday  with  most  anxious  hopes  for 
your  favorable  answer. 

“I  am,  Dear  Madam, 

“ Yours  most  respectfully, 

“John  Hammerton. 


Shaw,  June  1st,  1833.1 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


7 

The  reader  may  be  surprised  by  the  double  m in  the  signa- 
ture. It  was  my  father’s  custom  to  write  our  name  so,  for  a 
reason  that  will  be  explained  in  another  chapter.  The  letter 
itself  is  rather  formal,  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  time,  but 
I think  it  is  a good  letter  in  its  way,  and  believe  it  to  have 
been  perfectly  sincere.  No  doubt  my  father  fully  intended  to 
reform  his  way  of  life,  but  it  is  easier  to  make  a good  resolu- 
tion than  to  adhere  to  it.  I do  not  know  enough  of  the  degree 
of  excess  to  which  his  love  of  pleasure  led  him,  to  be  able  to 
describe  his  life  as  a young  man  accurately,  but  as  my  mother 
had  been  well  brought  up  and  was  a refined  person  for  her  rank 
in  society,  I conclude  that  she  would  not  have  encouraged  a 
notorious  evil-liver.  Those  who  knew  my  father  in  his  early 
manhood  have  told  me  that  he  was  very  popular,  and  yet  at 
the  same  time  that  he  bore  himself  with  considerable  dignity, 
one  old  lady  going  so  far  as  to  say  that  when  he  walked  through 
the  main  street  at  Shaw,  it  seemed  as  if  all  the  town  belonged 
to  him.  It  is  difficult  for  us  to  understand  quite  accurately  the 
social  code  of  the  Georgian  era,  when  a man  might  indulge  in 
pleasures  which  seem  to  us  coarse  and  degrading,  and  yet 
retain  all  the  pride  and  all  the  bearing  of  a gentleman. 

The  marriage  took  place  according  to  the  fixed  resolution  of 
the  contracting  parties,  and  their  life  together  was  immensely 
happy  during  the  short  time  that  it  lasted.  Most  unfortu- 
nately it  came  to  an  end  after  little  more  than  one  year  by  my 
mother’s  lamentably  premature  death.  I happen  to  possess  a 
letter  from  my  father’s  sister  to  her  sister  Anne  in  which  she 
gives  an  account  of  this  event,  and  print  it  because  it  conveys 
the  reality  more  vividly  than  a narrative  at  second  hand.  The 
reader  will  pardon  the  reference  to  myself.  It  matters  nothing 
to  a dead  man  — as  I shall  he  when  this  page  is  printed  — 
whether  at  the  age  of  fourteen  days  he  was  considered  a fine- 
looking  child  or  a weakling. 

M Friday  Morning. 

“My  dear  Anne, — You  will  not  calculate  upon  so  speedy  an 
answer  as  this  to  your  long  and  welcome  epistle,  nor  will  you  cal- 
culate upon  the  melancholy  intelligence  I have  to  communicate. 
Poor  John’s  wife,  certainly  the  most  amiable  of  all  woman -kind, 


8 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


departed  this  life  at  twenty  minutes  past  eleven  last  night.  Her 
recovery  from  her  confinement  was  very  wonderful,  we  thought, 
but  alas ! it  was  a false  one.  The  Drs.  Whitaker  of  Shaw,  Wood  of 
Rochdale,  and  Bardsley  of  Manchester  all  agree  in  opinion  that  she 
has  died  of  mere  weakness  without  any  absolute  disease.  She  has 
been  very  delicate  for  a long  time.  Poor  dear  John  — if  I were 
quite  indifferent  to  him  I should  grieve  to  see  his  agonies — he  says 
at  sixty  it  might  have  happened  in  the  common  course  of  things 
and  he  would  have  borne  it  better,  but  at  twenty-nine,  just  when 
he  is  beginning  life,  his  sad  bereavement  does  indeed  seem  un- 
timely. It  is  a sore  affliction  to  him,  sent  for  some  good,  and  may 
he  understand  and  apply  it  with  wisdom ! They  had,  to  be  sure, 
hardly  been  married  long  enough  to  quarrel,  but  I never  saw  a 
couple  so  intent  on  making  each  other  happy;  they  had  not  a 
thought  of  each  other  but  what  tended  to  please.  The  poor  little 
boy  is  a very  fine  one,  and  I hope  he  will  be  reared,  though  it  often 
happens  that  when  the  mother  is  consumptive  the  baby  dies.  I 
do  hope  when  John  is  able  to  look  after  his  office  a little  that  the 
occupation  of  his  mind  will  give  him  calm.  He  walks  from  room 
to  room,  and  if  I meet  him  and  he  is  able  to  articulate  at  all,  he 
says,  * Ah ! where  must  I be  ? what  must  I do  ? ’ He  says  nobody 
had  such  a wife,  and  I do  think  nobody  ever  had.  He  wanted  me 
not  to  write  till  arrangements  were  made  about  the  funeral.  I 
thought  you  would  be  sorry  to  be  informed  late  upon  a subject  so 
near  John’s  heart,  and  that  it  was  too  late  for  Mr.  Hinde1  to  come 
to  the  funeral.  I have  really  nothing  to  say  except  that  our  poor 
sister  was  so  tolerable  on  Wednesday  morning  that  I went  with 
the  Milnes  of  Park  House  to  Henton  Park  races,  which  I liked  very 
well,  but  as  things  have  turned  out  I heartily  repent  going.  Ann 
was,  we  hoped,  positively  recovering  on  Monday  and  Tuesday,  but 
it  seems  to  have  been  a lightening  before  death.  She  was  a very 
long  time  in  the  agonies  of  death,  but  seemed  to  suffer  very  little. 
Our  afflicted  brother  joins  me  in  best  love  to  you  and  your  dear 
children.  Kind  compliments  to  Mr.  Hinde. 

“ I remain, 

“ Your  affectionate  Sister, 

“M.  Hammerton.” 

The  letter  is  without  date,  but  it  bears  the  Manchester  post- 
mark of  September  27,  1834,  and  the  day  of  my  birth  was  the 

1 The  Rev.  Thomas  Hinde,  Vicar  of  Featherstone,  brother-in-law  of 
the  writer  of  the  letter. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


9 


tenth  of  the  same  month.  The  reader  may  have  observed  a 
discrepancy  with  reference  to  my  mother’s  health.  First  it  is 
said  that  the  doctors  all  agreed  in  the  opinion  that  she  died  of 
mere  weakness,  without  any  absolute  disease,  but  afterwards 
consumption  is  alluded  to.  I am  not  sure,  even  yet,  whether 
my  mother  was  really  consumptive  or  only  suffered  from  de- 
bility. Down  to  the  time  when  I write  this  (fifty-one  years 
after  my  mother’s  death)  there  have  never  been  any  symptoms 
of  consumption  in  me. 

No  portrait  of  my  mother  was  ever  taken,  so  that  I have 
never  been  able  to  picture  her  to  myself  otherwise  than 
vaguely,  but  I remember  that  on  one  occasion  in  my  youth 
when  I played  the  part  of  a young  lady  in  a charade,  several 
persons  present  who  had  known  her,  said  that  the  likeness  was 
so  striking  that  it  almost  seemed  as  if  she  had  appeared  to  them 
in  a vision,  and  they  told  me  that  if  I wanted  to  know  what 
my  mother  was  like,  I had  only  to  consult  a looking-glass. 
She  had  blue  eyes,  a very  fair  complexion,  and  hair  of  a rich, 
strongly-colored  auburn,  a color  more  appreciated  by  painters 
than  by  other  people.  In  the  year  1876  I was  examining  a 
large  boxful  of  business  papers  that  had  belonged  to  my  father, 
and  burning  most  of  them  in  a garden  in  Yorkshire,  when  a 
little  packet  fell  out  of  a legal  document  that  I was  just  going 
to  throw  upon  the  fire.  It  was  a lock  of  hair  carefully  folded 
in  a piece  of  the  bluish  paper  my  father  used  for  his  law  cor- 
respondence, and  fastened  with  an  old  wire-headed  pin.  I at 
once  took  it  to  a lady  who  had  known  my  mother,  and  she  said 
without  a moment’s  hesitation  that  the  hair  was  certainly  hers, 
so  that  I now  possess  this  relic,  and  it  is  all  I have  of  my  poor 
mother  whose  face  I never  saw,  and  whose  voice  I never  heard. 
Few  people  who  have  lived  in  the  world  have  left  such  slight 
traces.  There  are  no  letters  of  hers  expect  one  or  two  formal 
compositions  written  at  school  under  the  eye  of  the  mistress, 
which  of  course  express  nothing  of  her  own  mind  or  feelings. 
Those  who  knew  her  have  told  me  that  she  was  a very  lively 
and  amiable  person,  physically  active,  and  a good  horsewoman. 
She  and  my  father  were  fond  of  riding  out  together,  and  indeed 
were  separated  as  little  as  might  be  during  their  brief  happi- 


10 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


ness.  She  even,  on  one  occasion,  went  out  shooting  with  him 
and  killed  something,  after  which  she  melted  into  tears  of  pity 
over  her  victim.1 

The  reader  will  pardon  me  for  dwelling  thus  on  these  few 
details  of  a life  so  sadly  and  prematurely  ended.  The  knowl- 
edge that  my  mother  had  died  early  cast  a certain  melancholy 
over  my  childhood;  I found  that  people  looked  at  me  with 
some  tenderness  and  pity  for  her  sake,  so  I felt  vaguely  that 
there  had  been  a great  loss,  though  unable  to  estimate  the  ex- 
tent of  it.  Later,  when  I understood  better  what  pains  and 
perils  Nature  inflicts  on  women  in  order  that  children  may 
come  into  the  world,  it  seemed  that  the  days  I lived  had  been 
bought  for  me  by  the  sacrifice  of  days  that  my  mother  ought  to 
have  lived.  She  was  but  twenty-four  when  she  passed  away, 
so  that  now  I have  lived  more  than  twice  her  span. 

The  effect  of  the  loss  upon  my  father  was  utterly  disastrous. 
His  new  and  good  projects  were  all  shattered,  and  a cloud  fell 
over  his  existence  that  was  never  lifted.  He  did  not  marry 
again,  and  he  lost  his  interest  in  his  profession.  My  mother 
left  him  all  her  property  absolutely,  so  he  felt  no  spur  of 
necessity  and  became  indolent  or  indifferent;  yet  those  who 
were  capable  of  judging  had  a good  opinion  of  his  abilities 
as  a lawyer.  Just  before  his  wife’s  death,  my  father  had 
rather  distinguished  himself  in  an  important  case,  and  received 
a testimonial  from  his  client  with  the  following  inscription : — 

Presented  to  Mr.  Hammerton , Solr,  by  his  obliged  client 
Mr.  Waring , as  a token  of  Esteem  for  his  active  services  in 
the  cause  tried  against  Stopherd  at  Lancaster , in  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  argument  arising  thereon  at  Westminster , and 
his  successful  defence  to  the  Equity  Suit  instituted  by  the 
Deft.  1834. 

My  father’s  practice  at  that  time  was  beginning  to  he  lucra- 
tive, and  would  no  doubt  have  become  much  more  so  in  a 
few  years;  but  the  blow  to  his  happiness  that  occurred  in  the 
September  of  1834  produced  such  discouragement  that  he 

1 A lady  related  to  my  mother  shot  well,  and  killed  various  kinds  of 
game,  of  which  I remember  seeing  stuffed  specimens  as  trophies  of  her 
skill. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


11 


sought  relief  from  his  depression  in  the  society  of  lively  com- 
panions. Most  unfortunately  for  him,  there  was  no  lively 
masculine  society  in  the  place  where  he  lived  that  was  not 
at  the  same  time  a constant  incitement  to  drinking.  There 
were  a few  places  in  the  Lancashire  of  those  days  where  con- 
vivial habits  were  carried  to  such  a degree  that  they  destroyed 
what  ought  to  have  been  the  flower  of  the  male  population. 
The  strong  and  hearty  men  who  believed  that  they  could  be 
imprudent  with  impunity,  the  lively,  intelligent,  and  sociable 
men  who  wanted  the  wittiest  and  brightest  talk  that  was  to 
be  had  in  the  neighborhood,  the  bachelor  whose  hearth  was 
lonely,  and  the  widower  whose  house  had  been  made  desolate, 
all  these  were  tempted  to  join  meetings  of  merry  companions 
who  set  no  limits  to  the  strength  or  the  quantity  of  their  pota- 
tions. My  poor  father  was  a man  of  great  physical  endow- 
ments, and  he  came  at  last  to  have  a mistaken  pride  in  being 
able  to  drink  deeply  without  betraying  any  evil  effects ; but  a 
few  years  of  such  an  existence  undermined  one  of  the  finest 
constitutions  ever  given  to  mortal  man.  A quarryman  once 
told  me  that  my  father  had  appeared  at  the  quarry  at  six  o’clock 
in  the  morning  looking  quite  fresh  and  hearty,  when,  taking  up 
the  heaviest  sledge-hammer  he  could  find,  he  gayly  challenged 
the  men  to  try  who  could  throw  it  farthest.  None  of  them 
came  near  him,  on  which  he  turned  and  said  with  a laugh  of 
satisfaction,  — “Not  bad  that,  for  a man  who  drank  thirty 
glasses  of  brandy  the  day  before ! ” Whether  he  had  ever 
approached  such  a formidable  number  I will  not  venture  to 
say,  but  the  incident  exactly  paints  my  father  in  his  northern 
pride  of  strength,  the  fatal  pride  that  believes  itself  able  to 
resist  poison  because  it  has  the  muscles  of  an  athlete. 

It  was  always  said  by  those  who  knew  the  family  that  my 
father  was  the  cleverest  member  of  it,  but  his  ability  must 
have  expended  itself  in  witty  conversation  and  in  his  profes- 
sional work,  as  I do  not  remember  the  smallest  evidence  of 
what  are  called  intellectual  tastes.  My  mother  had  a few 
books  that  had  belonged  to  her  family,  and  to  these  my  father 
added  scarcely  anything.  I can  remember  his  books  quite 
clearly,  even  at  this  distance  of  time.  One  was  a biography 


12 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


of  William  IV.,  another  a set  of  sketches  of  Reform  Ministers, 
a third  was  Baines’s  “ History  of  Lancashire,  ” a fourth  a Geo- 
graphical Dictionary.  These  were,  I believe,  almost  all  the 
books  (not  concerned  with  the  legal  profession)  that  my  father 
ever  purchased.  His  bookcase  did  not  contain  a single  volume 
by  the  most  popular  English  poets  of  his  own  time,  nor  even 
so  much  as  a novel  by  Sir  Walter  Scott.  I have  no  recollec- 
tion of  ever  having  seen  him  read  a book,  but  he  took  in  the 
“ Times  ” newspaper,  and  I clearly  remember  that  he  read  the 
leading  articles,  which  it  was  the  fashion  at  that  time  to  look 
upon  as  models  of  style.  This  absence  of  interest  in  literature 
was  accompanied  by  that  complete  and  absolute  indifference  to 
the  fine  arts  which  was  so  common  in  the  middle  classes  and 
the  country  aristocracy  of  those  days.  I mention  these  defi- 
ciences  to  explain  the  extreme  dulness  of  my  poor  father’s 
existence  during  his  widowhood,  a dulness  that  a lover  of 
books  must  have  a difficulty  in  imagining.  A man  living  alone 
with  servants  (for  his  son’s  childhood  was  spent  elsewhere), 
who  took  hardly  any  interest  in  a profession  that  had  become 
little  more  than  nominal  for  him,  who  had  not  even  the  stimu- 
lus of  a desire  to  accumulate  wealth  (almost  the  only  recognized 
object  in  the  place  where  he  lived),  a man  who  had  no  intel- 
lectual pursuits  whatever,  and  whose  youth  was  too  far  behind 
him  for  any  joyous  physical  activity,  was  condemned  to  seek 
such  amusements  as  the  customs  of  the  place  afforded,  and 
these  all  led  to  drinking.  He  and  his  friends  drank  when 
they  were  together  to  make  society  merrier,  and  when  they 
happened  to  be  alone  they  drank  to  make  solitude  endurable. 
Had  they  drunk  light  wines  like  French  peasants,  or  beer  like 
Germans,  they  might  have  lasted  longer,  but  their  favorite 
drink  was  brandy  in  hot  strong  grogs,  accompanied  by  un- 
limited tobacco.  They  dined  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  and 
had  the  spirit  decanters  and  the  tobacco-box  on  the  table 
instead  of  dessert,  frequently  drinking  through  the  whole 
afternoon  and  a long  evening  afterwards.  In  the  morning 
they  slaked  alcoholic  thirst  with  copious  draughts  of  ale.  My 
father  went  on  steadily  with  this  kind  of  existence  without 
anything  whatever  to  rescue  him  from  its  gradual  and  fatal 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


13 


degradation.  He  separated  himself  entirely  from  the  class  he 
belonged  to  by  birth,  lived  with  men  of  little  culture,  though 
they  may  have  had  natural  wit,  and  sacrificed  his  whole  future 
to  mere  village  conviviality.  Thousands  of  others  have  fol- 
lowed the  same  road,  hut  few  have  sacrificed  so  much.  Mj 
father  had  a constitution  such  as  is  not  given  to  one  man  in 
ten  thousand,  and  his  mind  was  strong  and  clear,  though  he 
had  not  literary  tastes.  He  was  completely  independent,  free 
to  travel  or  to  make  a fortune  in  his  profession  if  he  preferred 
a sedentary  existence,  but  the  binding  force  of  habit  overcame 
his  weakened  will,  and  he  fell  into  a kind  of  life  that  placed 
intellectual  and  moral  recovery  alike  beyond  his  reach. 


14 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


CHAPTER  III. 

1835-1841. 

My  childhood  is  passed  at  Burnley  with  my  aunts.  — My  grandfather  and 
grandmother.  — Estrangement  between  Gilbert  Hamerton  and  his 
brother  of  Hellifield  Peel.  — Death  of  Gilbert  Hamerton.  — His  taste 
for  the  French  language.  — His  travels  in  Portugal,  and  the  conduct 
of  a steward  during  his  absence.  — His  three  sons.  — Aristocratic  ten- 
dencies of  his  daughters.  — Beginning  of  my  education.  — Visits  to  my 
father. 

I was  not  brought  up  during  childhood  under  my  father’s  roof, 
but  was  sent  to  live  with  his  two  unmarried  sisters.  These 
ladies  were  then  living  in  Burnley  with  their  mother. 

Burnley  is  now  a large  manufacturing  town  of  seventy  thou- 
sand inhabitants,  but  in  those  days  it  was  just  rising  in  impor- 
tance, and  a few  years  earlier  it  had  been  a small  country  town 
in  an  uncommonly  aristocratic  neighborhood.  The  gate  of 
Towneley  Park  opens  now  almost  upon  the  town  itself,  and 
in  former  times  there  were  many  other  seats  of  the  greater  or 
lesser  squires  within  a radius  of  a ver}'  few  miles.  It  is  a 
common  mistake  in  the  south  of  England  to  suppose  that 
Lancashire  is  a purely  commercial  county.  There  are,  or 
were  in  my  youth,  some  very  aristocratic  neighborhoods  in 
Lancashire,  and  that  immediately  about  Burnley  was  one  of 
them.  The  creation  of  new  wealth,  and  the  extinction  or 
departure  of  a few  families,  may  have  altered  its  character 
since  then,  but  in  the  days  of  my  grandfather  nobody  thought 
of  disputing  the  supremacy  of  the  old  houses.  There  was 
something  almost  sublime  in  the  misty  antiquity  of  the 
Towneley  family,  one  of  the  oldest  in  all  England,  and  still 
one  of  the  wealthiest,  keeping  house  in  its  venerable  castel- 
lated mansion  in  a great  park  with  magnificent  avenues. 
Other  houses  of  less  wealth  and  more  modern  date  had  their 
pedigrees  in  the  history  of  Lancashire. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


15 


My  grandfather,  Gilbert  Hamerton,  possessed  an  old  gabled 
mansion  with  a small  but  picturesque  estate,  divided  from 
Towneley  Park  by  a public  road,  and  he  had  other  property 
in  the  town  and  elsewhere  enough  to  make  him  independent, 
hut  not  enough  to  make  him  one  of  the  great  squires.  How- 
ever, as  he  was  the  second  son  of  an  ancient  Yorkshire  family, 
and  as  pedigrees  and  quarterings  counted  for  something  in  those 
comparatively  romantic  times,  the  somewhat  exclusive  aristoc- 
racy about  Burnley  had  received  him  with  much  cordiality 
from  the  first,  and  he  continued  all  his  life  to  belong  to  it. 
His  comparative  poverty  was  excused  by  a well-known  history 
of  confiscation  in  his  family,  and  perhaps  made  him  rather 
more  interesting,  especially  as  it  did  not  go  far  enough  to 
become  — what  poverty  becomes  so  easily  — ridiculous.  He 
lived  in  a large  old  house,  and  plentifully  enough,  but  without 
state  and  style.  His  marriage  had  been  extremely  imprudent 
from  the  worldly  point  of  view.  An  aunt  of  my  grandfather’s, 
on  his  mother’s  side,  had  invited  him  to  stay  with  her,  and 
had  not  foreseen  the  attractions  of  a farmer’s  daughter  who 
was  living  in  the  house  as  a companion.  My  good,  unworldly 
grandfather  fell  in  love  with  this  girl,  and  married  her.  He 
never  had  any  serious  reason  to  regret  this  very  imprudent  step, 
for  Jane  Smith  became  an  excellent  wife  and  mother,  and  she 
did  not  even  injure  his  position  in  society,  where  she  knew 
how  to  make  herself  respected,  and  was  much  beloved  by  her 
most  intimate  friends.  I remember  her,  though  I never  knew 
my  grandfather.  My  recollection  of  her  is  a sort  of  picture  of 
an  old  lady  always  dressed  in  black,  and  seated  near  a window, 
or  walking  slowly  with  a stick.  The  dawn  of  reason  and  feel- 
ing is  associated  in  my  memory  with  an  intense  affection  for 
this  old  lady  and  with  the  kind  things  she  said  to  me,  not  yet 
forgotten.  I remember,  too,  the  awful  stillness  of  her  dead 
body  (hers  was  the  first  dead  human  body  I looked  upon), 
and  the  strange  emptiness  of  the  house  when  it  had  been 
taken  away. 

Though  my  grandmother  was  only  a farmer’s  daughter,  her 
parents  were  well-to-do  in  their  own  line  of  life,  and  at  various 
times  helped  my  grandfather  with  sums  of  money;  but  the 


16 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


fact  remained  that  he  had  married  quite  out  of  his  class,  and 
it  has  always  seemed  to  me  probable  that  the  marriage  may 
have  had  some  connection  with  the  complete  and  permanent 
estrangement  that  existed  between  Gilbert  Hamerton  and  his 
brother,  the  squire  of  Hellifield  Peel.  As  soon  as  I was  old 
enough  to  understand  a little  about  relationships,  I reflected 
that  the  houses  of  my  own  uncles  were  open  to  me,  that  my 
cousins  were  all  like  brothers  and  sisters  to  me,  and  yet  that 
my  father  and  my  aunts  had  never  been  to  their  uncle’s  house 
at  Hellifield,  and  that  our  relations  there  never  came  to  see  us 
at  Burnley.  The  explanation  of  this  estrangement  given  by 
my  grandfather,  was  that  there  had  been  a disagreement  about 
land ; but  perhaps  he  may  have  felt  some  delicacy  about  telling 
his  children  that  his  unambitious  marriage  had  contributed  to 
render  the  separation  permanent.  However  this  may  have 
been,  my  grandmother  never  once  saw  the  inside  of  her 
brother-in-law’s  house,  and  when  she  died  there  was,  I believe, 
not  even  the  formal  expression  of  condolence  that  is  usual 
among  acquaintances.  Gilbert  Hamerton  had  lived  at  Hollins, 
a house  and  estate  inherited  from  his  mother;  and  James 
Hamerton,  the  elder  brother,  lived  in  a castellated  peel  or 
border  tower  at  Hellifield,  which  had  been  built  by  Lawrence 
Hamerton  in  1440.  The  two  places  are  not  much  more  than 
twenty  miles  apart;  but  the  brothers  never  met  after  their 
quarrel,  and  my  grandfather’s  sons  and  daughters  never  saw 
their  uncle’s  house.  One  result  of  the  estrangement  was  that 
we  hardly  seemed  to  belong  to  our  own  family ; and  I remember 
a lady,  who  had  some  very  vague  and  shadowy  claims  to  a distant 
connection  with  the  family  at  Hellifield,  asking  one  of  my 
aunts  in  a rather  patronizing  manner  if  she  also  did  not  “ claim 
to  be  connected  ” with  the  Hamertons  of  Hellifield  Peel. 
Even  to  this  day  it  is  difficult  for  me  to  realize  the  simple  fact 
that  she  was  niece  to  an  uncle  whom  she  had  never  seen,  and 
first  cousin  to  his  successor. 

My  grandfather  had  lived  in  apparently  excellent  health  till 
the  age  of  seventy-seven,  when  one  afternoon  as  he  was  seated 
in  his  dining-room  at  Hollins,  nobody  being  present  except  his 
eldest  daughter  Mary,  he  asked  her  to  open  the  window,  and 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY . 


17 


then  added,  “Say  a prayer.”  She  immediately  began  to  re- 
peat a short  prayer,  and  before  she  had  reached  the  end  of  it 
he  was  dead.  There  is  a strange  incident  connected  with  his 
death,  which  may  be  worth  something  to  those  who  take  an 
interest  in  what  is  now  called  “ Psychical  Research.”  At  the 
same  hour  his  married  daughter  was  sitting  in  a room  forty 
miles  away  with  her  little  boy,  a child  just  old  enough  to  talk, 
and  the  child  stared  with  intense  interest  at  an  empty  chair. 
His  mother  asked  what  attracted  his  attention,  and  the  child 
said,  “ Don’t  you  see,  mamma,  the  old  gentleman  who  is  sitting 
in  that  chair  ? ” I am  careful  not  to  add  details,  as  my  own 
imagination  might  unconsciously  amplify  them,  but  my  im- 
pression is  that  the  child  was  asked  to  describe  the  vision  more 
minutely,  and  that  his  description  exactly  accorded  with  his 
grandfather’s  usual  appearance. 

The  old  gentleman  preserved  the  costume  and  manners  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  wearing  his  pig-tail,  breeches,  and  shoe- 
buckles.  He  took  life  too  easily  for  any  intellectual  achieve- 
ments, but  he  had  a great  liking  for  the  French  language,  and 
wrote  a very  original  French  grammar,  which  he  had  curiously 
printed  in  synoptic  sheets,  at  his  private  expense,  though  it  was 
never  completed  or  published.  I have  sometimes  thought  it 
possible  that  my  own  aptitude  and  affinity  for  that  language 
may  have  been  inherited  from  him,  and  that  his  labors  may 
in  a manner  have  overcome  many  difficulties  for  me  by 
the  wonderful  process  of  transmission.  He  never  lived  in 
France,  and  I believe  he  never  visited  the  country,  his  French 
conversations  being  chiefly  held  with  a good-natured  Roman 
Catholic  chaplain  at  Towneley  Hall.  My  grandfather’s  most 
extensive  travels  were  in  Portugal,  lasting  six  months,  and  with 
regard  to  that  journey  I remember  two  painful  incidents.  His 
travelling  companion,  a younger  brother,  died  abroad,  in  con- 
sequence of  having  slept  in  a damp  bed.  The  other  incident 
is  vexatious  rather  than  tragical,  and  yet  Wordsworth  would 
have  seen  tragedy  in  it  also.  During  his  absence  from  home, 
my  grandfather  had  confided  the  care  of  his  estate  to  an  agent, 
who  cut  down  the  old  avenue  of  oaks  that  led  to  the  house,  on 
the  pretext  that  some  of  the  trees  were  showing  signs  of  decay, 


18 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


and  that  he  had  an  acceptable  offer  for  the  whole.  The  road 
retained  the  name  of  “ The  Avenue  ” for  many  years,  but  the 
trees  were  never  replaced. 

Perhaps  the  reader  will  think  this  incident  hardly  worth 
mentioning,  but  to  a lover  of  trees,  avenues,  and  old  houses, 
such  as  I confess  myself  to  he,  it  seems  the  very  perfection  of  a 
vexatious  incident.  I cannot  imagine  anything  whatever,  not 
entailing  any  serious  consequences,  that  would  have  tried  my 
own  temper  more. 

On  my  grandfather’s  death,  the  whole  of  his  property  went 
to  his  eldest  son.  He  had  brought  up  all  his  three  sons  to  be 
solicitors,  not  because  he  had  any  peculiar  enthusiasm  for  the 
legal  profession,  but  simply  as  the  readiest  means  of  earning  a 
living.  The  sons  themselves  had  no  natural  affinity  for  the 
law ; my  eldest  uncle  heartily  disliked  it,  the  other  regarded  it 
with  cool  indifference,  and  my  father  expressed  his  desire  that 
I should  never  be  a lawyer,  on  the  ground  that  a man  had 
enough  to  plague  him  in  his  own  concerns  without  troubling 
his  mind  about  those  of  other  people.  One  curious  distinction 
may  be  noted  here,  as  the  result  probably  of  that  intermingling 
with  the  every-day  world,  which  happens  naturally  in  the  career 
of  provincial  attorneys.  Whilst  my  aunts  remained  all  their 
lives  aristocratic  in  their  feelings,  and  rather  liked  to  enjoy  the 
hospitality  of  the  great  houses  in  the  neighborhood,  my  uncles, 
and  my  father  also,  abandoned  all  aristocratic  memories  and  as- 
pirations, and  entered  frankly  into  the  middle  class.  Each  of 
them  did  what  was  natural  under  the  circumstances.  Women 
are  generally  more  aristocratic  than  men,  and  cling  more  de- 
cidedly to  their  class,  and  I think  my  aunts  showed  better  taste 
in  liking  refined  society  than  my  father  did  in  lowering  him- 
self to  associate  with  men  of  an  inferior  stamp  in  rank,  in 
manners,  and  in  habits.  I distinctly  remember  how  one  of  my 
aunts  told  me  that  somebody  had  made  a remark  on  her  liking 
for  great  people,  and  the  only  comment  she  made  was,  that  she 
preferred  gentlefolks  because  their  manners  were  more  agreeable. 
She  was  not  a worshipper  of  rank,  but  she  liked  the  quiet, 
pleasant  manners  of  the  aristocracy,  which  indeed  were  simply 
her  own  manners. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


19 


My  childhood  could  not  have  been  better  cared  for,  even  by 
my  own  mother,  than  by  these  two  excellent  ladies.  They 
gave  me  a beginning  of  education,  and  they  have  told  me  since 
that  I learned  to  read  English  with  the  greatest  facility,  so  that 
when  I was  sent  to  the  Grammar  School  at  Burnley,  at  the 
early  age  of  five  and  a half,  the  master  considered  me  so  well 
forward  that  I was  set  at  once  to  Latin.  In  those  days  it  was 
a part  of  the  wisdom  of  our  educators  to  make  us  learn  Latin 
out  of  a grammar  written  in  that  language,  and  I retain  some 
recollection  of  the  perfectly  useless  mental  fatigue  and  puzzle- 
ment that  I was  made  to  undergo  in  learning  abstract  statements 
about  grammatical  science  that  were  written  in  a tongue  which 
I could  not  possibly  understand.  The  idea  of  taking  a child 
five  and  a half  years  old,  and  making  it  learn  a dead  language 
by  abstract  rules,  is  of  itself  a great  error.  The  proper  way  to 
teach  a child  Latin  is  simply  to  give  it  a vocabulary,  including 
only  the  things  that  it  can  see  or  imagine,  and  a few  verbs  to 
make  little  phrases.  I had  learned  to  read  English  so  easily 
that  good  hopes  were  entertained  for  the  rest  of  my  education, 
hut  ray  progress  in  Latin  was  very  slow,  and  the  only  result  of 
my  early  training  was  to  give  me  a horror  of  everything  printed 
in  Latin,  that  I did  not  overcome  for  many  years. 

There  was  another  child-pupil  rather  older  than  I,  and  the 
head-master  of  those  days  (Dr.  Butler’s  predecessor),  who  had 
a rude  disposition,  sometimes  amused  himself  by  putting  me  on 
one  of  his  knees,  and  the  other  little  boy  on  the  other  knee, 
after  which,  by  an  adroit  simultaneous  movement  of  the  two 
legs,  he  suddenly  brought  our  heads  into  collision.  I quite  re- 
member the  sensation  of  Ueing  stunned  on  these  occasions,  but 
am  not  aware  that  my  Latin  was  any  the  better  for  it. 

My  recollection  of  those  early  years  is  extremely  vague,  and 
there  is  little  in  them  that  could  interest  the  reader.  I was 
taken  once  or  twice  a year  to  my  father,  and  always  disliked  and 
dreaded  those  visits,  as  I feared  him  greatly,  and  with  good 
reason.  On  one  of  these  visits,  when  quite  a child,  I persuaded 
my  father’s  groom  to  let  me  mount  his  saddle-horse,  which  I 
remember  as  a gray  animal  of  what  seemed  a prodigious  alti- 
tude. The  man  put  me  on  the  horse’s  back,  and  being  entirely 


20 


A UTOBIO  GRAPH  Y. 


destitute  of  common-sense  or  prudence,  actually  gave  me  a 
whip  and  left  the  bridle  to  me.  I applied  the  whip  vigorously, 
and  was  very  soon  thrown  off  and  carried  back  to  the  house 
covered  with  blood,  happily  without  more  serious  consequences. 
Another  little  incident  has  more  of  the  comic  element.  My 
father  employed  a tailor  for  himself,  and  told  the  man  to  make 
me  a suit  without  entering  into  any  particulars.  The  tailor 
being  thus  left  to  his  own  wisdom,  made  a costume  that  was 
the  exact  copy  of  a full-grown  squire’s  dress  on  a small  scale. 
It  was  composed  of  a green  cut-away  coat,  a yellow  waistcoat, 
and  green  trousers,  the  whole  adorned  with  gilt  buttons.  The 
tailor  dressed  me,  and  then,  proud  of  his  work,  presented  me 
to  my  father  and  the  ladies.  If  the  tailor  was  proud,  my  pride 
and  satisfaction  were  at  least  equal  to  his,  and  we  neither  of  us 
could  in  the  least  understand  the  roars  of  laughter  that  my  ap- 
pearance provoked,  whilst  our  feelings  were  deeply  wounded  by 
my  father’s  tyrannical  decree  that  I was  never  to  wear  those 
beautiful  clothes  at  all.  Even  to  this  day  I am  capable  of  re- 
gretting that  suit,  and  certainly  I often  see  children  now  whose 
costumes  are  at  least  equally  absurd. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


21 


CHAPTER  IV. 

1842. 

A tour  in  Wales  in  1842.  — Extracts  from  my  journal  of  this  tonr.  — My 
inborn  love  for  beautiful  materials.  — Stay  at  Rhyl.  — Anglesea  and 
Caernarvon.  — Reasons  for  specially  remembering  this  tour. 

The  pleasantest  recollections  I have  of  ray  father  are  connected 
with  a tour  in  Wales  that  he  undertook  with  me  and  his  eldest 
sister  in  the  summer  of  1842.  My  aunt  made  me  keep  a jour- 
nal of  that  tour,  which  I still  possess,  and  by  its  help  those 
days  come  back  to  me  with  a vividness  that  is  very  astonishing 
to  myself.  Being  accustomed  to  live  with  grown-up  people,  and 
having  no  companions  of  my  own  age  in  the  same  house  (though 
I had  cousins  at  Hollins  and  friends  at  school),  I had  acquired 
a way  of  talking  about  things  as  older  people  talk,  so  that  the 
journal  in  question  contains  many  observations  that  do  not  seem 
natural  for  a child.  The  fact,  no  doubt,  is  that  I listened  to  my 
father  and  aunt,  and  then  put  down  many  of  their  remarks  in 
my  little  history  of  our  tour ; but  I was  very  observant  on  my 
own  account,  and  received  very  strong  impressions,  especially 
from  buildings,  such  as  old  castles  and  cathedrals,  and  great 
houses,  and  I had  a topographic  habit  of  mind  even  in  child- 
hood, which  made  every  fresh  locality  interesting  to  me  and 
engraved  it  on  my  memory.  Perhaps  the  reader  may  like  to 
see  a page  of  the  diary.  It  seems  rather  formal  and  elderly  to 
he  written  by  a child  eight  years  old,  hut  it  must  be  remem- 
bered that  it  was  an  exercise  written  by  my  father’s  desire  and 
to  please  him.  Letters  to  my  cousins  at  the  same  date  would 
have  been  more  juvenile.  Nevertheless,  it  was  perfectly  nat- 
ural  for  me  then  to  use  words  employed  by  older  people,  and 
the  reader  will  remember  that  I had  been  learning  Latin  for 
more  than  two  years. 


22 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


“ On  the  road  from  Rhydland  to  Abergele  we  saw  Hemmel  Park, 
the  seat  of  Lord  Dinorbin,  lately  burnt  down.  Near  Rhydland  is 
Penwarn,  the  seat  of  Lord  Mostyn ; the  house  is  small  and  unpre- 
tending, the  grounds  are  beautiful.  There  is  a very  handsome 
dog-kennel,  in  which  are  kept  forty-four  couple  of  fine  fox-hounds 
ready  for  work,  besides  old  ones  in  one  kennel,  and  young  ones  in 
another : the  dogs  all  in  such  good  order  and  kennels  so  perfectly 
clean.  In  one  field  were  sixteen  hunters  without  shoes.  Lord 
Mostyn  does  not  live  much  at  Penwarn,  generally  in  London.  He 
is  an  old  man,  and  at  present  an  invalid.  We  had  several  pleasant 
days’  fishing  in  the  Clwyd  and  Elway;  a Mr.  Graham  at  Rhyl  has 
permission  to  fish  in  Lord  Mostyn’s  preserve,  and  he  may  take  a 
friend,  which  character  Papa  and  I personated  for  the  time. 

“ About  eight  miles  from  Rhyl  is  Trelacre,  the  seat  of  Sir  Pyers 
Mostyn,  a very  excellent  modern  building ; the  grounds  are  laid 
out  with  most  luxuriant  taste,  nothing  is  wanting  to  give  effect  to 
it  as  a whole.  In  the  woods  opposite  the  house  is  a rich  but  rather 
formal  distribution  of  flower-beds ; everything  appeared  to  be  in 
blossom.  On  an  elevation  is  placed  the  most  ingeniously  contrived 
Grotto ; at  every  turn  there  is  a device  of  another  character  to  the 
last,  here  a lion  couchant,  there  the  head  of  Momus,  a wild  boar’s 
head,  a heron,  a skeleton,  &c.,  &c.  In  one  place  were  two  old  friars 
seated,  each  leaning  on  his  stick,  apparently  in  earnest  conversa- 
tion ; all  these  are  roughly,  but  with  great  accuracy,  formed  upon 
the  numerous  pillars  which  support  a room  or  two  above.  The 
last  object  you  arrive  at  is  a hermit  as  large  as  life  seated  in  his 
cell,  with  one  book  beside  him  and  another  on  his  knee,  upon 
which  his  left  hand  is  placed ; his  right  is  laid  across  his  breast. 
The  pillars  are  so  contrived  that  the  little  cavern  is  light  in  every 
part ; at  the  entrance  is  an  immense  sea-dragon  with  large  glaring 
eyes  and  a long  red  tongue  hanging  half-way  out.  The  monster 
had  an  effect  somewhat  startling.  Next  above  the  grotto  is  a 
small  room  hewn  out  of  the  rock,  with  sofas  and  pillows  on  each 
side  the  fireplace  hewn  out  of  the  same  rock.  In  the  centre  is  a 
stone  table,  upon  which  were  some  beautiful  antique  bowls,  cups, 
&c.  The  door  to  this  apartment  is  a great  curiosity,  being  made 
to  appear  as  if  of  rock ; we  did  not  think  at  first  that  it  was  a real 
door.  Over  this  room  is  another,  the  residence  of  a lame  woman, 
who  showed  us  upon  the  leads  above  her  dwelling  a very  extensive 
prospect;  amongst  the  objects  was  the  mouth  of  the  river  Dee. 
She  afterwards  [took  us]  to  a moss  house,  and  several  other  nice 
points  in  the  garden.  The  walks  are  covered  with  the  material 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


23 


left  in  washing  the  lead  ore,  through  which  no  weed  can  even 
peep.  It  is  many-colored,  and  the  glittering  of  here  and  there  a 
bit  of  ore,  lead,  or  silver,  has  a very  pretty  effect  indeed.” 

The  reader  will  have  had  enough  of  the  journal  by  this  time. 
Its  only  merit  is  the  accurate  noting  down  of  details  that  I had 
seen ; but  many  of  the  details  are  such  as  children  of  that  age 
do  not  commonly  pay  attention  to,  as,  for  instance,  in  this  bit 
about  an  old  church : — 

“ The  church  at  Dyserth  has  an  east  window  which  is  considered 
the  greatest  antiquity  in  Wales;  many  figures  of  the  saints  are 
represented  in  colored  glass,  the  lead  betwixt  the  panes  is  the 
breadth  of  two  fingers.  The  yard  has  several  old  trees  — two  very 
fine  yews,  and  certainly  the  largest  birch  for  miles  round.” 

I notice  a great  interest  in  all  beautiful  materials  throughout 
the  pages  of  this  journal ; the  kind  of  wood  used  for  the  suites 
of  furniture  is  invariably  mentioned,  as,  for  example,  the  chairs 
of  solid  ebony  in  the  dining-room  at  Penrhyn  Castle,  the  old 
oak  in  the  dining-room  at  Trelacre,  and  the  light  oak  in  the 
drawing-room,  the  carved  oak  ceilings  and  pillars  at  Penrhyn, 
and  the  use  of  stone  from  St.  Helen’s  there,  as  well  as  the  bed- 
stead that  is  made  of  slate,  and  the  enormous  table  of  the  same 
material  in  the  servants’  hall.  The  interest  in  materials  is  a 
special  instinct,  a kind  of  sympathy  with  Nature  showing  itself 
by  appreciation  of  the  different  qualities  of  her  products.  This 
instinct  has  always  been  very  strong  in  me,  and  I have  often 
noticed  it  in  others,  especially  in  artists.  Some  poets  are  very 
fond  of  describing  beautiful  materials;  but  the  instinct  is  not 
confined  to  poetical  or  artistic  natures,  being  often  found 
amongst  workmen  in  the  handicrafts,  and  it  may  be  associated 
with  a sense  of  the  usefulness  of  materials,  as  well  as  with 
admiration  of  their  beauty.  With  me  the  interest  in  them  is 
both  artistic  and  utilitarian;  all  metals,  woods,  marble,  etc., 
are  delightful  to  me  in  some  way. 

In  1842  Rhyl  was  a little  quiet  place  known  to  the  Liver- 
pool people  as  a good  bathing-place,  but  not  spoiled  by  formal 
rows  of  houses  and  big  hotels.  There  was  at  that  time  in  Rhyl 


24 


A UTOBIO  GRAPHY. 


a gentleman  who  possessed  a sort  of  genteel  cottage  in  a rela- 
tively large  garden,  and  though  the  house  was  small,  it  might 
have  done  for  a widower  like  my  father,  and  it  was  for  sale. 
I remember  urging  my  father  to  buy  it,  as  Rhyl  pleased  me  on 
account  of  the  possibilities  of  boating  and  riding  on  the  sands, 
besides  which  we  had  enjoyed  some  excellent  fishing,  which 
delighted  me  as  a child,  though  I gave  up  the  amusement  after- 
wards. I mention  the  house  here  for  a particular  reason.  It 
has  remained  very  distinctly  in  my  inemery  ever  since,  as  my 
father’s  last  chance  of  escape  from  his  habits  and  associates. 
Whilst  we  were  in  Wales  together  he  conducted  himself  as  a 
man  ought  to  do  who  is  travelling  with  a lady  and  a child. 
He  was  not  harsh  with  me,  and  notwithstanding  my  habitual 
fear  of  him,  some  of  my  Welsh  days  with  him  are  pleasant  to 
live  over  again  in  memory.  How,  if  he  had  bought  that  house, 
the  sort  of  life  we  were  then  leading  might  have  become  habit- 
ual, and  he  might  possibly  have  been  saved  from  the  sad  fate 
that  awaited  him.  However,  though  tempted  for  a moment, 
he  refused  because  it  did  not  seem  a good  investment,  being 
a flimsy  little  building,  not  very  well  contrived. 

Though  my  father  would  not  buy  the  house  to  please  me, 
he  bought  me  a little  hay  mare  at  Rhyl  that  was  a pretty  and 
swift  creature,  and  we  took  her  on  the  steamer  to  Menai, 
where,  for  want  of  a convenient  arrangement  for  landing 
horses,  she  was  pitched  into  the  sea  and  made  to  swim  ashore. 
She  had  been  in  a hot  place  on  the  steamer,  near  the  engines, 
and  the  sudden  change  to  the  cold  sea-water  was  probably  (so 
we  thought  afterwards)  the  reason  why  she  became  broken- 
winded,  which  was  a great  grief  to  me.  I hardly  know  why  I. 
record  these  trifles,  but  they  have  an  importance  in  the  feelings 
of  a hoy,  and  I am  weak  enough  to  have  very  tender  feelings 
about  animals  down  to  the  present  day. 

We  visited  Anglesea  and  Caernarvon,  and  other  places  too 
well  known  for  the  reader  to  tolerate  a description  of  them 
here.  In  those  days  the  tubular  bridge  had  not  yet  been 
thought  of ; hut  the  beautiful  suspension  bridge  at  Menai  was 
already  in  existence,  and  was  the  most  remarkable  bridge  then 
existing  in  the  world.  I was  more  struck  by  the  beauty  of  the 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


25 


structure  than  by  its  costliness  or  size ; the  journal  says,  “ It  is 
indeed  wonderfully  beautiful.”  On  one  of  our  excursions  we 
saw  what  in  rainy  weather  is  a good  waterfall,  and  I find  a 
reference  to  this  that  I quote  for  the  curious  bit  of  Welsh- 
English  that  is  included  in  it,  — “We  came  to  a little  village, 
which  has  in  a wet  season  a very  fine  waterfall ; the  driver  said 
it  would  not  be  seen  to  advantage  because  there  was  ‘few 
water.’  There  certainly  was  ‘few  water,’  but  the  fine  high 
rocks  gave  a powerful  idea  of  what  it  would  have  been  had  the 
rushing  of  waters  taken  the  place  of  the  death-like  stillness 
which  then  prevailed.” 

The  reader  will  perhaps  pardon  me  for  having  dwelt  longer 
on  this  Welsh  tour  than  the  interest  of  it  may  seem  to  war- 
rant; but  I look  back  to  it  with  lingering  regret  as  the  last 
agreeable  association  connected  with  the  memory  of  my  father. 
It  was  a most  happy  little  tour.  I had  an  intensely  strong 
affection  for  my  father’s  eldest  sister  Mary,  who  accompanied 
us,  and  whose  dear  handwriting  I recognize  in  a few  corrections 
in  the  journal.  Besides,  that  year  1842  is  absolutely  the  last 
year  of  my  life  in  which  I could  live  in  happy  ignorance  of 
evil  and  retain  all  the  buoyancy  of  early  boyhood.  A terrible 
experience  was  in  reserve  for  me  that  soon  aged  me  rapidly, 
and  made  a really  merry  boyish  life  impossible  for  me  after 
having  passed  through  it. 


26 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


CHAPTER  V. 

1843-1844. 

A painful  chapter  to  write.  — My  father  calls  me  home.  — What  kind  of 
a house  it  was.  — Paternal  education  and  discipline.  — My  life  at  that 
time  one  of  dulness  varied  by  dread. 

The  writing  of  this  chapter  is  so  painful  to  me  that  the  neces- 
sity for  it  has  made  me  put  off  the  composition  of  this  auto- 
biography year  after  year.  Then  why  not  omit  the  chapter 
altogether  1 The  omission  is  impossible,  because  the  events  of 
the  year  1843-1844  were  quite  the  most  important  of  my  early 
boyhood,  and  have  had  a most  powerful  and  in  some  respects  a 
disastrous  influence  over  my  whole  life. 

Notwithstanding  my  father’s  kindness  to  me  during  our 
Welsh  tour,  my  feelings  towards  him  were  not,  and  could  not 
be,  those  of  trust  and  confidence.  He  was  extremely  severe 
at  times,  often  much  more  so  than  the  occasion  warranted,  this 
being  partly  natural  in  a strong  authoritative  man,  and  partly 
the  result  of  irritability  brought  on  by  his  habit  of  drinking. 
When  inflamed  with  brandy  he  became  positively  dangerous, 
and  I had  a well-founded  dread  of  his  presence.  At  all  times 
he  was  very  uncertain  — he  might  greet  me  with  a kind  word 
or  he  might  be  harsh  or  silent,  just  as  it  happened.  During 
my  visits  to  him  at  Shaw,  one  of  my  two  aunts  invariably  accom- 
panied me  and  stayed  as  long  as  I stayed,  which  was  a great 
protection  for  me.  The  idea  of  being  left  alone  with  my  father, 
even  for  a day,  was  enough  to  fill  me  with  apprehension ; how- 
ever, it  did  not  seem  likely  that  I should  have  to  live  with 
him,  as  I should  probably  be  sent  to  some  distant  school,  and 
only  come  home  for  the  holidays. 

This  was  the  view  of  my  future  that  was  taken  by  my  aunts 
and  myself,  when  one  day  in  the  year  1843,  I believe  in  the 
month  of  J une,  there  came  a letter  from  my  father  peremptorily 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


27 


declaring,  in  terms  which  admitted  of  no  discussion,  that  al- 
though a child  might  live  with  ladies  it  was  not  good  for  a 
boy,  and  that  he  had  determined  to  have  me  for  the  future 
under  his  own  roof.  The  news  came  upon  me  like  a thunder- 
clap in  a clear  sky.  I had  grateful  and  affectionate  feelings 
towards  both  my  aunts,  but  to  the  elder  my  feelings  were  those 
of  a son,  and  a very  loving  son,  towards  his  mother.  She  had, 
in  fact,  taken  the  place  of  my  mother  so  completely  that  I re- 
mained unconscious  of  my  loss.  I reserve  for  a pleasanter 
chapter  than  this  the  delightful  duty  of  painting  her  portrait; 
at  present  it  is  enough  to  say  that  a separation  from  her  in 
childhood  was  the  most  bitter  grief  that  could  be  experienced 
by  me,  and  my  father’s  ukase  made  this  separation  seem  des- 
tined to  be  eternal,  except  perhaps  a short  visit  in  the  holidays. 
In  a word,  my  filial  life  with  her  seemed  at  an  end. 

I was  taken  to  my  father’s  and  left  alone  with  him.  Some  years 
before,  he  had  bought  a house  in  Shaw  called  Ivy  Cottage,  — a 
house  with  a front  of  painted  stucco,  looking  on  a garden,  — and 
though  the  gable  end  of  the  house  looked  on  a street,  the  other 
end  had  a view  over  some  fields,  not  then  built  over.  My  father 
rented  one  or  two  of  these  fields  for  his  horses  and  cows,  and 
some  farm  buildings  just  big  enough  for  his  small  establishment. 
He  did  not  keep  a carriage,  and  had  even  given  up  his  dog- 
cart, but  he  always  had  a saddle-horse  for  himself  and  a pony 
for  me ; at  one  time  I had  two  ponies.  His  horses  were  his 
only  luxury,  but  he  was  as  exacting  about  them  as  if  he  had 
been  a rich  nobleman.  He  would  not  tolerate  careless  grooming 
for  an  instant;  bits  and  stirrups  were  always  kept  in  a state  of 
exemplary  brightness,  and  when  he  rode  through  Shaw  he  was 
quite  fit  to  be  seen  in  Hyde  Park.  At  that  time  he  had  a jet- 
black  mare  of  a vicious  temper,  which  only  gratified  his  pride 
as  a horseman,  and  it  so  happened  (I  am  not  inventing  this  for 
a contrast)  that  my  pony  was  of  the  purest  white  with  full 
mane  and  tail  of  the  same,  and  shaped  exactly  like  the  sturdy 
war-horses  in  old  pictures.  As  he  was  still  a fine-looking, 
handsome  man  and  I was  a healthy  boy,  no  doubt  we  looked 
well  enough,  and  it  is  probable  that  many  a poor  factory  lad 
envied  me  my  good  luck  in  being  able  to  ride  about  in  that 


28 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


way,  instead  of  working  in  a mill;  but  I rode  in  constant  dread 
of  my  father’s  heavy  hunting-whip.  It  had  a steel  hammer  at 
the  end  of  the  long  handle,  and  if  at  any  time  its  owner  fancied 
that  I was  turning  my  toes  out,  he  did  not  say  anything,  but 
with  a dexterity  acquired  by  practice  he  delivered  a sharp  blow 
with  that  hammer  on  my  foot  which  made  me  writhe  with  pain. 
Nothing  vexed  him  more  than  any  appearance  of  gentleness  or 
tenderness.  I loved  my  pony,  Lily,  and  did  not  like  to  beat 
her  when  she  was  doing  her  best,  and  she  had  hard  work  to 
keep  up  with  my  father’s  ill-tempered  mare,  so  he  would  say, 
“ D — n it,  can’t  you  whip  her  ? Can’t  you  whip  better  than 
that?  The  strokes  of  that  whip  of  yours  are  so  feeble  that 
they  would  n’t  kill  a fly ! ” Nobody  could  say  that  of  his 
hitting.  I had  a little  young  dog  that  was  very  dear  to  me, 
and  when  it  pleased  my  father  one  day  to  walk  into  the  kitchen, 
it  unluckily  so  happened  that  the  dog  was,  or  seemed  to  be,  in 
his  way,  so  he  gave  it  a kick  that  sent  it  into  the  middle  of  the 
room,  and  there  it  lay  quivering.  He  took  no  notice  of  it,  said 
what  he  had  to  say,  in  his  usual  peremptory  tone,  and  then 
left  the  room.  I knelt  down  by  the  poor  little  dog,  which  was 
in  its  death-agony,  and  shortly  breathed  its  last. 

During  our  rides  my  dreaded  companion  would  stop  at  many 
inns  and  private  houses,  where  he  slaked  his  perpetual  thirst  in 
stirrup-cups,  or  sometimes  he  would  go  in  and  sit  for  a long 
time  whilst  the  horses  were  cared  for  by  some  groom.  The 
effects  of  these  refreshments  could  not  fail  to  be  evident  as  we 
returned  home;  and  it  was  more  by  good  luck  than  anything 
else,  except  his  habitually  excellent  horsemanship,  that  he  was 
able  to  ride  at  all  in  that  condition.  I clearly  remember  one 
particular  occasion  when  he  seemed  to  be  keeping  his  seat  with 
more  than  usual  uncertainty,  and  at  last  fairly  rolled  out  of  it. 
We  were  riding  along  a paved  street,  so  that  the  fall  would  have 
been  very  serious;  but  two  or  three  men  who  were  watching 
him  foresaw  the  accident  just  in  time,  and  rushed  forward  to 
catch  him  as  he  fell.  On  another  occasion  when  I was  not 
present  (indeed  this  happened  before  my  settled  residence  with 
my  father)  he  fell  in  a most  dangerous  way,  with  his  foot 
caught  in  the  stirrup,  and  was  dragged  violently  down  a steep 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


29 


hill  till  the  horse  was  brought  to  a stand.  Fortunately  my 
father  wore  a top-coat  at  the  time,  which  was  soon  torn  off  his  back 
by  the  friction,  and  so  were  his  other  clothes,  and  the  back  it- 
self was  almost  flayed;  but  the  doctor  said  that  if  he  had  been 
lightly  dressed  the  accident  would  have  been  far  more  serious. 

My  father  would  sometimes  send  me  on  errands  to  a consid- 
erable distance  with  the  pony,  and  as  he  hated  all  dawdling  and 
loitering  in  others,  though  he  had  become  a perfectly  un- 
disciplined man  himself,  he  would  limit  me  strictly  to  the  time 
necessary  for  my  journey,  a time  that  I never  ventured  to  exceed. 
In  some  respects  the  education  that  he  was  giving  me,  though 
of  Spartan  severity,  was  not  ill  calculated  for  the  formation  of 
a manly  character.  He  quite  understood  the  importance  of 
applying  the  mind  completely  to  the  thing  which  occupied  it 
for  the  moment.  If  he  saw  me  taking  several  books  together 
that  had  no  connection  with  each  other,  he  would  say,  “ Take 
one  of  those  books  and  read  it  steadily,  don’t  potter  and  play 
with  half-a-dozen.” 

Desultory  effort  irritated  him,  and  he  was  quick  to  detect 
busy  idleness  under  its  various  disguises.  He  swore  very  freely 
himself,  and  as  I heard  so  many  oaths  I was  beginning  to  ac- 
quire the  same  accomplishment,  when  he  overheard  me  acci- 
dentally and  gave  me  such  a stern  lecture  on  the  subject  that  I 
knew  ever  after  I was  not  to  follow  the  paternal  example. 
What  his  soul  hated  most,  however,  was  a lie  or  the  shadow  of 
a lie.  He  could  not  tolerate  the  little  fibs  that  are  common 
with  women  and  children,  and  are  often  their  only  protection 
against  despotism.  “ Tell  the  truth  and  shame  the  devil  ” was 
one  of  his  favorite  precepts,  though  why  the  devil  should  feel 
ashamed  because  I spoke  the  truth  was  never  perfectly  clear  to 
my  childish  intellect.  However,  the  precept  sank  deep  into  my 
nature,  and  got  mixed  up  with  a feeling  of  self-respect,  so  that 
it  became  really  difficult  for  me  to  tell  fibs.  I remember  on 
one  occasion  being  a martyr  for  truth  in  peculiarly  trying  cir- 
cumstances. It  was  before  I lived  permanently  under  the 
paternal  roof,  and  on  one  of  those  visits  we  paid  to  my  father. 
An  aunt  was  with  me  (not  the  one  who  accompanied  us  to 
Wales),  and  she  was  often  rather  hard  and  severe.  My  father  had 


30 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


made  a law  that  I was  to  practise  with  dumb-bells  a quarter  of 
an  hour  every  morning,  and  this  exercise  was  taken  in  the 
garden,  but  before  beginning  I always  looked  at  the  clock  which 
was  in  the  sitting-room.  On  coming  back  into  the  house  one 
morning,  I met  my  father,  who  said,  “ Have  you  done  your 
fifteen  minutes?”  “Yes,  papa.”  “That  is  not  true,”  said 
my  aunt  from  the  next  room,  “ he  has  only  practised  for  ten  min- 
utes ; look  at  the  clock ! ” My  terrible  master  looked  at  the 
clock ; the  finger  stood  at  ten  minutes  after  eleven,  and  this  was 
taken  as  conclusive  evidence  against  me.  I simply  answered 
(what  was  true)  that  I had  begun  five  minutes  before  the  hour. 
This  “ additional  lie  ” put  my  father  into  a fury,  and  he 
ordered  me  to  do  punishment  drill  with  those  dumb-bells  for 
two  hours  without  stopping.  Of  those  hundred  and  twenty 
minutes  he  did  not  remit  one.  Long  before  their  expiration  I 
was  ready  to  drop,  but  he  came  frequently  to  show  that  he  had 
his  eye  upon  me,  and  the  horrible  machine-like  motion  must 
continue.  On  other  occasions  I got  punished  for  lying,  when 
my  only  fault  was  the  common  childish  inability  to  explain. 
“ Why  did  you  tear  that  piece  of  paper  ? ” “ Please,  papa,  I 

did  not  tear  it;  I pulled  it , and  it  tore”  Here  is  a child  at- 
tempting to  explain  that  he  had  not  torn  a piece  of  paper  volun- 
tarily, that  he  had  stretched  it  only,  and  had  himself  been 
surprised  by  the  tearing.  In  my  father’s  code  that  was  a “ con- 
founded lie,”  and  I was  to  he  severely  punished  for  it. 

His  system  of  education  included  riding  as  an  essential  part, 
and  that  he  taught  me  well,  so  far  as  a child  of  that  age  could 
learn  it.  But  though  there  were  harriers  within  a few  miles 
he  could  not  take  me  to  hunt,  as  children  are  sometimes 
taken  in  easier  countries,  the  fields  in  Lancashire  being  so  fre- 
quently divided  by  stone  walls.  The  nature  of  our  neighbor- 
hood equally  prevented  him  from  teaching  me  to  swim,  which 
he  would  otherwise  have  done,  as  there  were  no  streams  deep 
enough,  or  left  in  their  natural  purity.  To  accustom  me  to 
water,  however,  he  made  me  take  cold  shower-baths,  certainly 
the  best  substitute  for  a plunge  that  can  be  had  in  an  ordinary 
room.  In  mental  education  he  attached  great  importance  to 
common  things,  to  arithmetic,  for  example,  and  to  good  reading 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


31 


aloud,  and  intelligible  writing.  His  own  education  had  been 
very  limited ; he  knew  no  modern  language  but  his  own,  and  I 
believe  he  knew  no  Greek  whatever,  and  only  just  enough 
Latin  for  a solicitor,  which  in  those  days  was  not  very  much ; 
but  if  he  was  a Philistine  in  neglecting  his  own  culture,  he  had 
not  the  real  Philistine’s  contempt  for  culture  in  others  and  de- 
sired to  have  me  well  taught ; yet  there  was  nobody  near  at  hand 
to  continue  my  higher  education  properly,  and  I was  likely,  had 
we  lived  long  together  at  Shaw,  to  become  like  the  regular 
middle-class  Englishmen  of  those  days,  who  from  sheer  want 
of  preliminary  training  were  impervious  to  the  best  influences 
of  literature  and  art.  I might  have  written  a clear  business 
letter,  and  calculated  interest  accurately. 

To  accustom  me  to  money  matters,  child  as  I was,  my  father 
placed  gold  and  silver  in  my  keeping,  and  whatever  I spent 
was  to  be  accounted  for.  In  this  way  money  was  not  to  be  an 
imaginary  thing  for  me,  but  a real  thing,  and  I was  not  to  lose 
the  control  of  myself  because  I had  my  pocket  full  of  sover- 
eigns. This  was  a very  original  scheme  in  its  application  to  so 
young  a child,  but  it  perfectly  succeeded,  and  I never  either 
lost  or  misapplied  one  halfpenny  of  the  sums  my  father  entrusted 
to  my  keeping.  He  was  evidently  pleased  with  his  success  in 
this. 

There  was  a village  school  near  his  house  kept  by  a respecta- 
ble man  for  children  of  both  sexes,  and  there  I was  sent  to 
practise  calligraphy  and  arithmetic.  During  school-hours  there 
was  at  least  complete  relief  from  the  paternal  supervision,  and 
besides  this  I managed  to  fall  in  love  with  a girl  about  a year 
older  than  myself,  who  was  a very  nice  girl  indeed,  though  she 
squinted  to  an  unfortunate  degree.  That  is  the  great  advantage 
of  having  the  young  of  both  sexes  in  the  same  schoolroom, — the 
manners  of  the  brutal  sex  may  be  made  tender  by  the  presence 
of  the  refined  one.  Boys  and  girls  both  went  to  the  Grammar 
School  at  Burnley,  in  the  now  forgotten  days  when  Mr.  Baws 
was  head-master  there;  but  that  was  long  before  my  time. 

My  existence  at  Ivy  Cottage  was  one  of  extreme  dulness 
varied  by  dread.  Every  meal  was  a tete-a-tete  with  my  father, 
unrelieved  by  the  presence  of  anv  lady  or  young  person,  and  he 


32 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


became  more  and  more  gloomy  as  his  nervous  system  gradually 
gave  way,  so  that  after  having  been  simply  stern  and  unbend- 
ing, he  was  now  like  a black  cloud  always  hanging  over  me  and 
ready,  as  it  seemed,  to  be  my  destruction  in  some  way  or  other 
not  yet  clearly  defined.  It  was  an  immense  relief  to  me  when 
a gaest  came  to  dinner,  and  I remember  being  once  very  much 
interested  in  a gentleman  who  sat  opposite  me  at  table,  for  the 
simple  reason  that  I believed  him  to  be  the  Duke  of  Welling- 
ton. There  was  rather  more  fuss  than  usual  in  the  way  of 
preparation,  and  my  father  treated  his  guest  with  marked  defer- 
ence, besides  which  the  stranger  had  the  Wellingtonian  nose, 
so  my  youthful  mind  was  soon  made  up  on  the  subject,  and  I 
listened  eagerly  in  the  hope  that  the  hero  of  Waterloo  would 
fight  some  of  his  battles  over  again.  He  remained,  however, 
silent  on  that  subject,  and  I afterwards  had  the  disappointment 
of  learning  that  our  guest  was  not  the  Duke,  but  only  the 
holder  of  a high  office  in  the  county. 


A UTOBIO  GRAPHY. 


33 


CHAPTER  VI. 
1844. 


My  extreme  loneliness.  — Thoughts  of  flight.  — My  father’s  last  illness 
and  death.  — Circumstances  of  my  last  interview  with  him.  — His 
funeral. 

It  was  one  of  the  effects  of  the  constant  anxiety  and  excite- 
ment, and  the  dreadful  wretchedness  of  that  time,  that  my 
brain  received  the  images  of  all  surrounding  creatures  and 
things  with  an  unnatural  clearness  and  intensity,  and  that 
they  were  impressed  upon  it  for  life.  Even  now  everything 
about  Ivy  Cottage  is  as  clear  as  if  the  forty  years  were  only  as 
many  days,  and  the  writing  of  these  chapters  brings  everything 
before  me  most  vividly, — not  only  the  faces  of  the  people  and  the 
habits  and  motions  of  the  animals,  but  even  the  furniture,  of 
which  I remember  every  detail,  down  to  the  coloring  of  the 
services  in  the  bedrooms,  and  the  paint  on  my  father’s  rocking- 
chair.  An  anecdote  has  been  told  in  these  pages  about  exercise 
with  dumb-bells  and  an  appeal  to  the  clock.  In  writing  that,  I 
saw  the  real  clock  with  the  moon  on  its  face  (for  it  showed  the 
phases  of  the  moon),  and  my  aunt  standing  near  the  window 
with  her  work  in  her  hand  and  glancing  up  from  the  work  to 
the  clock,  just  as  she  did  in  reality. 

Amongst  other  particular  occasions  I remember  one  night 
when  the  moon  shone  very  brightly  in  the  garden,  and  I was 
sitting  near  my  bedroom  window  looking  over  it,  meditating 
flight.  My  father’s  cruelty  had  then  reached  its  highest  point. 
I was  always  spoken  to  harshly  when  he  condescended  to  take 
any  notice  of  me  at  all,  and  was  very  frequently  beaten.  Our 
meals  together  had  become  perfectly  intolerable.  He  would 
sit  and  trifle  with  his  cutlet,  and  cover  it  with  pepper,  for  his 
appetite  was  completely  gone,  and  there  was  no  conversation 
except  perhaps  an  occasional  expression  of  displeasure.  The 

3 


34 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


continual  tension  caused  by  anxiety  made  my  sleep  broken  and 
uncertain,  and  that  night  I sat  up  alone  in  the  bedroom  longer 
than  usual  and  looking  down  upon  the  moonlit  garden.  There 
was  an  octagonal  summer-house  of  trellis-work  on  the  formal 
oblong  lawn,  and  on  the  top  of  it  was  a large  hollow  ball  of 
sheet-copper  painted  green  that  had  cost  my  grandmother  three 
pounds.  It  is  oddly  associated  with  my  anxieties  on  that  night, 
because  I looked  first  at  it  and  then  at  the  moon  alternately 
whilst  thinking.  The  situation  had  become  absolutely  intolera- 
ble, the  servants  were  my  only  protectors,  and  though  devoted 
they  never  dared  to  interfere  when  their  master  was  actually 
beating  me.  I therefore  seriously  weighed,  in  my  own  childish 
manner,  the  possibilities  of  a secret  flight.  The  moonlight  was 
tempting — it  would  be  easy  to  go  alone  to  the  stable  and  saddle 
the  pony.  On  a fine  night  I could  be  many  miles  away  before 
morning.  There  was  no  difficulty  whatever  about  money;  I 
had  plenty  of  sovereigns  in  a drawer  to  be  accounted  for  after- 
wards to  my  father,  and  meanwhile  could  employ  them  in  escap- 
ing from  him.  Still,  I knew  that  such  an  employment  of  his 
money  would  be  looked  upon  by  him  as  a breach  of  trust,  and 
would,  in  fact,  be  a breach  of  trust.  This  consideration  was 
not  easily  set  aside,  though  I now  see  that  it  was  needlessly 
scrupulous,  and  have  no  doubt  whatever  that  if  a child  is  left 
by  the  ignorance  or  the  carelessness  of  superior  authority  in  the 
hands  of  a madman,  it  has  a clear  right  to  provide  for  its  own 
safety  by  any  means  in  its  power. 

But  where  was  I to  go?  My  uncles  were  two  very  cool 
lawyers,  always  on  the  side  of  authority,  and  they  would  not 
be  likely  to  believe  my  story  entirely.  A vague  but  sure 
instinct  warned  me  that  they  would  set  me  down  for  a rebel- 
lious boy  who  wanted  to  escape  from  justly  severe  paternal 
authority,  and  that  they  would  at  once  send  me  back  to  Ivy 
Cottage.  One  of  my  two  maiden  aunts  would  be  very  likely 
to  take  the  same  view,  but  if  the  other  received  me  with 
kindness,  she  could  not  have  strength  to  resist  my  father,  who 
would  send  or  go  to  her  at  once  and  claim  me.  After  think- 
ing over  all  these  things,  I came  to  the  conclusion  that  real 
safety  was  only  to  be  found  amongst  strangers,  and  it  seemed 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


35 


so  hazardous  to  ask  protection  from  unknown  people  that  I 
decided  to  remain ; but  a very  little  would  have  settled  it  the 
other  way.  If  those  sovereigns  had  been  really  my  own,  I 
should  probably  have  crept  out  of  the  house,  saddled  the  pony, 
and  ridden  many  miles;  but  so  young  a boy  travelling  alone 
would  have  been  sure  to  attract  attention,  and  the  attempt  to 
win  deliverance  would  have  been  a failure.  In  after  years, 
one  of  my  elder  relatives  said  that  the  attempt  would  almost 
certainly  have  caused  my  father  to  disinherit  me  by  a new 
will,  as  my  mother’s  property  had  been  left  to  him  absolutely. 
This  danger  was  quite  of  a serious  kind  (more  serious  than 
the  reader  will  think  probable  from  what  I choose  to  say  in 
this  place),  as  my  father  had  another  heir  in  view  whom  I 
never  saw,  but  who  was  held  in  terror era  over  me. 

I awoke  one  bleak  winter’s  morning  about  five  o’clock,  and 
heard  the  strangest  cries  proceeding  from  his  room.  His  man- 
servant had  been  awakened  before  me  and  had  gone  to  the 
room  already,  where  he  was  engaged  in  a sort  of  wrestling 
match  with  my  father,  who,  in  the  belief  that  the  house  was 
full  of  enemies,  was  endeavoring  to  throw  himself  out  of  the 
window.  Other  men  had  been  called  for,  who  speedily 
arrived,  and  they  overpowered  him,  though  even  the  remnant 
of  his  mighty  strength  was  such  that  it  took  six  men  to  hold 
him  on  his  bed.  The  attack  lasted  a whole  week,  and  the 
house  would  have  been  a perfect  hell , had  not  a certain  event 
turned  it  for  me  into  a Paradise. 

I had  not  been  able  somehow  to  get  to  sleep  late  at  night 
for  a short  time,  when  a light  in  the  room  awoke  me.  The 
horrible  life  I had  been  leading  for  many  a day  and  night  had 
produced  a great  impressionability,  and  I was  particularly 
afraid  of  my  father  in  the  night-time,  so  I started  up  in  bed 
with  the  idea  that  he  was  come  to  beat  me,  when  lo!  instead 
of  his  terrible  face,  I saw  what  for  me  was  the  sweetest  and 
dearest  face  in  the  whole  world ! It  was  his  sister  Mary , she 
who  had  taken  my  mother’s  place,  and  whom  I loved  with  a 
mingled  sentiment  of  filial  tenderness  and  gratitude  that  re- 
mained undiminished  in  force,  though  it  may  have  altered  in 
character,  during  all  the  after  years.  For  the  suddenness  of 


36 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


revulsion  from  horror  to  happiness,  there  has  never  been  a 
minute  in  my  existence  comparable  to  the  minute  when  I 
realized  the  idea  that  she  had  come.  At  first  it  seemed  only 
a deceptive  dream.  Such  happiness  was  incredible,  and  I did 
not  even  know  she  had  been  sent  for;  but  the  sweet  reality 
entered  into  my  heart  like  sunshine,  and  throwing  my  arms 
about  her  neck  I burst  into  a passion  of  tears.  She,  in  her 
quiet  way,  for  she  hardly  ever  yielded  to  a strong  emotion, 
though  her  feelings  were  deep  and  tender,  looked  at  me  sadly 
and  kindly  and  told  me  to  sleep  in  peace,  as  she  was  going 
to  remain  in  the  house  some  time.  Then  she  left  the  room, 
and  I lay  in  the  darkness,  but  with  a new  light  brighter  than 
sunshine  in  the  hope  that  the  miserable  life  with  my  father 
had  at  length  come  to  an  end.  It  had  only  been  six  months 
in  all,  but  it  had  seemed  longer  than  any  half-dozen  years 
gone  through  before  or  after. 

If  this  book  were  a novel,  a very  effective  chapter  might  be 
written  to  describe  my  father’s  sufferings  during  his  week  of 
delirium,  and  all  the  dreadful  fancies  by  which  his  disordered 
brain  was  oppressed  and  tortured;  but  I prefer  to  skip  that 
week  altogether,  and  come  to  a morning  when  his  recovery 
was  thought  to  be  assured.  He  was  no  longer  delirious,  but 
apparently  quite  calm,  though  his  manner  was  hard  and  impe- 
rious. He  ordered  me  to  be  sent  up  to  him,  and  I went 
almost  trembling  with  the  old  dread  of  him,  and  with  a 
wretched  feeling  that  after  my  single  week  of  respite  the 
tyranny  was  to  begin  again.  Such  may  have  been  the  feel- 
ings of  an  escaped  slave  when  he  has  been  caught  and  brought 
back  in  irons,  and  stands  once  more  in  his  master’s  presence. 
I tried  to  congratulate  my  master  on  his  recovery  in  a clumsy 
childish  way,  but  he  peremptorily  ordered  me  to  fetch  the 
“Times”  and  read  to  him.  I began,  as  usual,  one  of  the 
leading  articles  on  the  politics  of  the  day,  and  before  I had 
read  many  sentences  my  hearer  declared  that  I was  reading 
badly  and  made  the  article  nonsense.  Why  had  I put  in 
such  and  such  words  of  my  own  1 he  asked.  His  own  precept 
that  I was  always  to  tell  the  truth  under  any  circumstances 
had  habituated  me  to  be  truthful  even  to  him,  so  I answered 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


37 


boldly  that  I had  not  inserted  the  words  attributed  to  me. 
Then  I read  a little  farther,  and  he  accused  me  of  inserting 
something  else  that  was  not  and  could  not  be  in  the  text;  I 
said  it  was  he  who  was  mistaken,  and  he  flew  into  an  uncon- 
trollable fury,  one  of  those  rages  in  which  it  had  been  his 
custom  to  punish  me  without  mercy.  What  he  might  have 
done  to  me  I cannot  tell ; he  raised  himself  in  bed  and  glared 
at  me  with  an  expression  never  to  be  forgotten.  My  aunt, 
however,  had  been  listening  at  the  door,  thinking  it  probable 
that  I should  be  in  danger,  and  sbe  now  opened  it  and  told 
me  to  come  away.  I have  a confused  recollection  of  reaching 
the  door  under  a parting  volley  of  imprecations. 

It  was  a mistake  to  let  my  father  see  me,  as,  in  the  per- 
verted state  of  his  mind,  the  mere  sight  of  me  was  enough  to 
make  him  furious.  Whether  he  hated  me  or  not,  nobody 
knows;  but  he  treated  me  as  if  I was  the  most  odious  little 
object  that  could  be  brought  before  his  eyes.  Very  soon  after 
the  scene  about  the  article  in  the  “Times,”  and  probably  in 
consequence  of  the  excitement  brought  on  by  it,  my  father  had 
a fit  of  apoplexy,  and  lingered  till  the  next  morning  about 
nine  o’clock.  I was  not  in  the  room  when  he  died,  but  my 
aunt  took  me  to  see  him  immediately  after,  and  then  I 
received  an  impression  which  has  lasted  to  the  present  day. 
The  corpse  was  lying  on  its  side  amidst  disordered  bed- 
clothes, and  to  this  day  I can  never  go  into  a bedroom  where 
the  bed  has  not  been  made  without  feeling  as  if  there  were 
a corpse  in  it.  That  dreadful  childish  sensation  received 
when  I saw  my  father's  body  just  as  it  lay  at  the  close  of 
the  death-agony,  can  even  now  be  revived  by  the  sight  of  a 
disordered  bed;  such  is  the  force  of  early  impressions,  espe- 
cially when  they  are  received  by  a nervous  system  that  has 
been  overwrought  by  the  extreme  of  mental  wretchedness. 

The  reader  will  hardly  believe  that  the  death  of  so  hard  a 
father  could  have  been  felt  otherwise  than  as  an  inexpressible 
relief,  and  yet  I was  deeply  affected  by  his  loss.  The  kindest 
of  fathers  could  hardly  have  been  wept  for  more.  My  aunt’s 
tears  were  more  explicable ; she  was  old  enough  to  understand 
the  frightful  waste  of  the  best  gifts  involved  in  that  pre- 


38 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


mature  ending;  as  for  my  grief,  perhaps  the  true  explanation 
of  it  may  be  that  I mourned  rather  the  father  who  had  been 
kind  to  me  in  Wales,  than  the  cruel  master  at  Ivy  Cottage. 

I sometimes  try  to  imagine  what  he  might  have  been  under 
more  favorable  circumstances.  There  were  times  after  his 
wife’s  death  when  he  meditated  a complete  change  of  resi- 
dence, which  might  have  saved  him.  He  would  always  have 
been  severe  and  authoritative,  but  without  alcohol  he  would 
probably  not  have  been  cruel. 

I remember  the  day  of  the  funeral  quite  distinctly.  My 
father’s  two  brothers  came,  though  he  had  had  scarcely  any 
intercourse  with  them  for  years.  They  were  most  respectable 
men,  quite  free  from  my  father’s  errors;  but  they  had  not 
half  his  life  and  energy.  Such  was  the  strength  of  his  con- 
stitution that  so  recently  as  the  time  of  our  journey  in  Wales 
his  health  was  not  visibly  impaired,  and  at  the  time  of  his 
death  he  had  that  rare  possession  for  a man  of  thirty-nine,  a 
complete  set  of  perfectly  sound  teeth. 

His  coffin  was  carried  on  the  shoulders  of  six  men  from 
Ivy  Cottage  to  the  graveyard  near  the  chapel.  Shaw  at  that 
time  had  only  a chapel,  a hideous  building  on  a bleak  piece 
of  rising  ground , surrounded  by  many  graves.  It  never  looked 
more  dreary  than  on  that  wretched  January  day  in  1844,  when 
we  stood  round  as  the  sexton  threw  earth  on  my  father’s 
coffin.  He  was  laid  in  the  same  tomb  with  the  poor  young 
wife  who  had  loved  him  truly,  and  to  whom  he  had  been  a 
tender  and  devoted  husband  whilst  their  short  union  lasted. 

I am  the  only  survivor  of  that  day’s  ceremony.  The  little 
procession  has  all  followed  my  father  into  the  darkness, 
descending  one  by  one  into  graves  separated  by  great  spaces 
of  land  and  sea.  And  when  this  is  printed  I,  too,  shall  be 
asleep  in  mine. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


39 


CHAPTER  VII. 

1845. 

Dislike  to  Shaw  in  consequence  of  the  dreadful  life  I led  there  with  my 
father.  — My  guardian.  — Her  plan  for  my  education.  — Doncaster 
School.  — Mr.  Cape  and  his  usher.  — The  usher’s  intolerance  of  Dis- 
senters. — My  feeling  for  architecture  and  music.  — The  drawing- 
master. — My  guardian  insists  on  my  learning  French.  — Our  French 
master,  Sig.  Testa.  — A painful  incident.  — I begin  to  learn  the  violin. 
— Dancing.  — My  aversion  to  cricket.  — Early  readings.  — Love  of 
Scott.  — My  first  library.  — Classical  studies. 

One  consequence  of  the  horrible  life  I had  led  at  Ivy  Cottage 
was  a permanent  dislike  to  the  place  and  the  neighborhood, 
the  evil  effects  of  which  will  be  seen  in  the  sequel.  For  the 
present  it  is  enough  to  say  that  I never  went  there  again  quite 
willingly.  After  my  father’s  death  my  grandmother  lived  in 
the  village,  and  I was  taken  to  see  her  every  year  until  her 
death;  but  though  she  was  a very  kind  old  lady,  it  was  a 
trial  to  me  to  visit  her.  I used  to  lie  awake  in  her  house  at 
nights,  realizing  those  horrible  nights  I had  passed  at  Ivy 
Cottage,  with  such  extreme  intensity  that  it  seemed  as  if  my 
father  might  enter  the  room  at  any  time.  This  was  not  a 
superstitious  dread  of  apparitions ; but  the  association  of  ideas 
brought  back  the  past  with  a clearness  that  was  extremely 
painful.  Even  now,  at  a distance  of  more  than  forty  years, 
I avoid  whatever  reminds  me  of  that  time,  and  am  not  sorry 
that  this  narrative  now  leads  to  something  else. 

My  father  had  no  great  affection  for  his  brothers,  who  on 
their  part  could  not  have  much  esteem  for  him,  so  there  was 
a mutual  coolness  which  prevented  him  from  appointing 
either  of  them  to  be  my  guardian.  Probably  they  felt  this 
as  a slight,  for,  although  always  kind  to  me,  they  held  com- 
pletely aloof  from  anything  like  paternal  interference  with 
my  education.  My  father  had  named  his  eldest  sister,  Mary, 


40 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


as  my  sole  guardian,  with  two  lawyers  as  co-executors  with 
her.  The  reader  will  probably  think  it  was  a mistake  to 
appoint  an  old  maid  to  be  guardian  to  a hoy;  hut  my  aunt 
was  a woman  of  excellent  sense,  and  certainly  not  disposed  to 
bring  me  up  effeminately;  indeed,  her  willingness  to  encour- 
age me  in  everything  manly  was  such  that  she  would  always 
inflict  upon  herself  considerable  anxiety  about  my  safety 
rather  than  prevent  me  from  taking  my  full  share  of  the  more 
or  less  perilous  exercises  of  youth.  As  to  my  education  and 
profession  her  scheme  was  very  simple  and  clear,  and  would 
have  been  perfectly  rational  if  I had  been  all  that  she  wished 
me  to  be.  According  to  her  plan  I was  to  go  to  good  schools 
first,  and  then  be  prepared  for  Oxford  by  tutors,  and  become 
a clergyman.  There  was  some  thought  at  one  time  of  send- 
ing me  to  one  of  the  great  public  schools ; but  this  was  aban- 
doned, and  I was  first  sent  to  Burnley  School  again,  and  then, 
after  the  summer  holidays  of  1845,  to  Doncaster,  where  I was 
a boarder  in  the  house  of  the  head-master. 

A word  from  me  in  favor  of  one  of  the  public  schools  would 
probably  have  decided  my  guardian  to  send  me  there;  but 
there  was  a vis  inertice  in  my  total  want  of  social  and  scho- 
lastic ambition.  I never  in  my  life  felt  the  faintest  desire  to 
rise  in  the  world  either  by  making  the  acquaintance  of  people 
of  rank  (which  is  the  main  reason  why  boys  of  middling 
station  are  sent  to  aristocratic  schools) , or  by  getting  letters 
put  after  my  name  as  a reward  for  learning  what  had  no 
intrinsic  charm  for  me.  In  the  worldly  sense  I never  had 
any  ambition  whatever. 

It  seemed  rather  hard,  after  living  at  Burnley  with  my 
kind  guardian,  to  be  sent  to  Doncaster  School  and  separated 
from  her  for  five  months  at  a time,  but  she  thought  the  sepa- 
ration necessary,  as  there  was  nothing  in  the  world  she  dreaded 
more  than  that  her  great  affection  might  spoil  me.  Always 
gentle  in  her  ways,  always  kind  and  considerate,  that  admir- 
able woman  had  still  a remarkable  firmness  of  character,  and 
would  act,  on  due  occasion,  in  direct  opposition  both  to  her 
own  feelings  and  to  mine,  if  she  believed  that  duty  required  it. 

In  those  days  there  was  no  railway  station  at  Doncaster,  and 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


41 


my  guardian  took  me  from  Featherstone  (where  her  brother- 
in-law,  Mr.  Hinde,  was  vicar)  to  Doncaster  in  a hired  car- 
riage. I remember  that  it  was  an  open  carriage  and  we  had 
nobody  with  us  except  the  driver,  and  it  was  a fine  hot  day 
in  August.  I remember  the  long  road,  the  arrival  at  an  inn 
at  Doncaster  not  far  from  the  new  church,  and  my  first  pre- 
sentation to  Mr.  Cape,  the  head-master,  who  seemed  a very 
kind  and  gentle  sort  of  clergyman  to  a boy  not  yet  acquainted 
with  his  cane.  Then  I was  left  alone  in  the  strange  school, 
not  in  the  best  of  spirits,  and  if  it  had  been  difficult  to  re- 
strain tears  when  my  guardian  left  me,  it  became  impossible 
in  the  little  iron  bed  in  the  dormitory  at  night. 

There  were  not  many  boarders,  perhaps  a dozen,  and  three 
or  four  private  pupils  who  were  preparing  for  Cambridge. 
All  these  were  lodged  in  the  head-master’s  house,  which  was 
in  a pleasant,  open  part  of  the  town,  on  the  road  leading  to 
the  race-course,  just  beyond  the  well-known  Salutation 
Hotel.  Besides  these,  there  were  rather  a large  number  of 
day  scholars,  — I forget  how  many , perhaps  fifty  or  sixty,  — and 
in  those  days  the  schoolhouse  was  a ground  floor  under  the 
old  theatre.  We  marched  down  thither  in  the  morning  under 
the  control  of  an  usher,  who  was  always  with  us  in  our 
walks.  This  usher,  whose  name  I well  remember,  but  do  not 
choose  to  print,  was  a vulgar,  overbearing  man  whom  it  was 
difficult  to  like,  yet  at  the  same  time  we  all  felt  that  he  was 
a very  valuable  master.  Boys  feel  the  difference  between  a 
master  who  is  a gentleman  and  one  who  falls  short  of  that 
ideal.  We  were  clearly  aware  that  the  head-master,  Mr. 
Cape,  was  a gentleman,  and  that  the  usher  was  not.  Never- 
theless, in  spite  of  his  occasional  coarseness  and  even  brutal- 
ity, the  usher  was  a painstaking,  honest  fellow,  who  did  his 
duty  very  energetically.  His  best  quality,  which  I appre- 
ciate far  more  now  than  I did  then,  was  an  extreme  readiness 
to  help  a willing  boy  in  his  work,  by  clearly  explaining  those 
difficulties  that  are  likely  to  stop  him  in  his  progress.  Mr. 
Cape  was  more  an  examiner  than  a teacher,  at  least  for  us; 
with  the  private  pupils  he  may  have  been  more  didactic.  The 
usher  evidently  liked  to  be  asked;  he  was  extremely  helpful 


42 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


to  me,  and  thanks  to  him  chiefly  I made  very  rapid  progress 
at  Doncaster.  Unfortunately  an  occasional  injustice  made  it 
difficult  to  be  so  grateful  to  him  as  we  ought  to  have  been. 
Here  is  an  example.  One  evening  in  the  playground  he  told 
me  to  get  on  the  back  of  another  boy,  and  then  thrashed  me 
with  a switch  from  an  apple-tree.  I begged  to  be  told  for 
what  fault  this  punishment  was  inflicted,  and  the  only  answer 
he  condescended  to  give  me  was  that  a master  owed  no  expla- 
nation to  a schoolboy.  Down  to  the  present  time  I have 
never  been  able  to  make  out  what  the  punishment  was  for, 
and  strongly  suspect  that  it  was  simply  to  exercise  the  usher’s 
arm,  which  was  a powerful  one.  He  was  a fair  cricketer, 
though  rather  too  fat  for  that  exercise,  and  a capital  swimmer, 
for  which  his  fat  was  an  advantage.  He  was  an  immoderate 
snuff-taker.  Sometimes  he  would  lay  a train  of  snuff  on  the 
back  of  his  hand  and  snuff  it  up  greedily  and  voluptuously. 
In  hot  weather  he  sometimes  sat  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  and 
would  occasionally  amuse  himself  by  laying  the  snuff  on  his 
thick  fat  arm  and  then  pass  it  all  under  his  nose,  which  drew 
it  up  as  the  pneumatic  discharging  machines  drew  grain  from 
the  hold  of  a vessel.  The  odor  of  snuff  was  inseparable  from 
his  person. 

On  Sunday  mornings  we  were  made  to  read  chapters  in  the 
Bible  before  going  to  church,  and  the  usher,  who  was  prepar- 
ing himself  to  enter  Holy  Orders,  would  sometimes  talk  to 
us  a little  about  theology.  Once  he  said  that  the  establish- 
ment of  religious  toleration  in  England  had  been  a deplorable 
mistake,  and  that  Dissent  ought  not  to  be  permitted  by  the 
Sovereign.  This  frank  expression  of  perfect  intolerance  rather 
surprised  me  even  then,  and  I did  not  quite  know  whether 
it  would  be  just  to  extirpate  Dissent  or  not.  My  principal 
feeling  about  the  matter  was  the  prejudice  inherited  by  young 
English  gentlemen  of  old  Tory  families,  that  Dissent  was 
something  indescribably  low,  and  quite  beneath  the  attention 
of  a gentleman.  Still,  to  go  farther  and  compel  Dissenters 
by  force  to  attend  the  services  of  the  Church  of  England  did 
seem  to  me  rather  hard,  and  on  thinking  over  the  matter 
seriously  in  my  own  mind,  I came  to  the  conclusion  that  our 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


43 


usher  must  be  wrong,  unless  Dissenters  were  guilty  of  some 
crime  I was  not  aware  of;  but  this,  after  all,  seemed  quite 
possible. 

We  were  taken  to  the  services  in  Doncaster  old  church, 
which  was  destroyed  by  fire  many  years  afterwards.  Though 
not  yet  in  my  teens,  I had  an  intense  delight  in  architecture, 
and  deeply  enjoyed  the  noble  old  building,  one  of  the  finest 
of  its  class  in  England.  Our  pew  was  in  the  west  gallery,  not 
far  from  the  organ,  and  from  it  we  had  a good  view  of  the 
interior.  The  effect  of  the  music  was  very  strong  upon  me, 
as  the  instrument  was  a fine  one,  and  I was  fully  alive  to  the 
influence  of  music  and  architecture  in  combination.  The  two 
arts  go  together  far  better  than  architecture  and  painting;  for 
music  seems  to  make  architecture  alive,  as  it  rolls  along  the 
aisles  and  under  the  lofty  vaults.  I well  remember  feeling, 
when  some  noble  anthem  was  being  performed,  as  if  the  sculpt- 
ured heads  between  the  arches  added  a noble  animation  to  their 
serenity.  Even  now,  the  impression  received  in  those  early 
days  still  remains  in  my  memory  with  considerable  clearness 
and  fidelity,  and  I believe  that  the  habit  of  attending  service 
in  such  a beautiful  church  was  a powerful  stimulus  to  an 
inborn  passion  for  architecture. 

I had  already  taken  lessons  in  drawing,  of  the  kind  which 
in  those  days  was  thought  suitable  for  boys  who  were  not 
expected  to  be  professional  artists,  so  the  drawing-master  at 
Doncaster  had  me  amongst  his  pupils.  He  was  an  elderly 
man,  rather  stout,  and  very  respectable.  His  house  was 
extremely  neat  and  tidy,  with  proper  mahogany  furniture, 
and  no  artistic  eccentricities  of  any  kind  whatever.  He 
himself  was  always  irreproachably  dressed,  and  he  wore 
a large  ruby  ring  on  the  little  finger  of  his  left  hand.  To  us 
boys  he  appeared  to  be  a personage  of  great  dignity,  but  we 
were  not  afraid  of  him  in  spite  of  the  dignity  of  his  manners, 
as  he  could  not  apply  the  cane.  He  was  not  unkind,  yet  in 
all  my  life  I never  met  with  anybody  concerned  with  the  fine 
arts  who  had  so  little  sympathy,  so  little  enthusiasm.  On 
the  whole,  he  was  distinctly  gentle  with  me,  but  I made  him 
angry  twice.  He  had  done  me  the  honor  to  promote  me  to 


44 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


water-color,  and  as  I wanted  a rag  to  wipe  my  slab  and 
brushes,  I ventured  to  ask  for  one,  on  which  he  turned  upon 
me  a glance  of  haughty  surprise,  and  said,  “ Do  you  suppose, 
sir,  that  I can  undertake  to  supply  you  with  rags  1 ” This 
will  give  an  idea  of  the  curiously  unsympathetic  nature  of  the 
man.  On  another  occasion  I was  drawing  a house,  or  begin- 
ning to  draw  one,  when  the  master  came  to  look  over  my 
shoulder  and  found  great  fault  with  me  for  beginning  with 
the  upper  part  of  the  edifice.  “ What  stonemason  or  brick- 
layer,” said  he,  “ would  think  of  building  his  chimney  before 
he  had  laid  the  first  row  of  stones  on  the  foundation  % ” A 
young  pupil  must  not  correct  the  bad  reasoning  of  his  elders, 
but  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  cases  of  a bricklayer  building  a 
real  house  and  an  artist  representing  one  on  paper  were  not 
precisely  the  same.  Later  in  life  I found  that  the  best  artists 
brought  their  works  forward  as  much  as  possible  simultane- 
ously, sketching  all  the  parts  lightly  at  first,  and  keeping  them 
all  in  the  same  degree  of  finish  till  the  end.1 

Nevertheless,  the  drawing-lessons  were  always  a delightful 
break  in  our  week’s  occupation,  and  I remember  with  pleasure 
the  walk  in  the  morning  down  to  the  drawing-master’s  house, 
two  days  in  the  week,  and  the  happy  hour  of  messing  with 
water-color  that  followed  it.  In  those  days  of  blissful  igno- 
rance I had,  of  course,  no  conception  of  the  difficulties  of 
art,  and  was  making  that  delusively  rapid  apparent  progress 
which  is  so  very  encouraging  to  all  incipient  amateurs.  Not 
a single  study  of  those  times  remains  in  my  portfolios  to-day, 
and  I know  not  what  may  have  become  of  them.  This  is 
the  more  to  be  regretted,  that  in  the  fine  weather  our  master 
took  us  into  the  fields  round  Doncaster  and  taught  us  to 
sketch  from  nature,  which  we  accomplished  in  a rudimentary 
way. 

My  dear,  wise,  and  excellent  guardian  was  always  anxious 
that  I should  receive  as  good  an  education  as  my  opportuni- 
ties would  permit,  so  she  insisted  on  my  learning  French,  and 

1 The  most  rational  way  to  paint  is  first  to  paint  all  the  large  masses 
together,  then  the  smaller  or  secondary  masses,  and  finally  the  details, 
bringing  the  picture  forward  all  together,  as  nearly  as  possible. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


45' 


had  herself  taught  me  the  elements  of  that  language,  which, 
she  was  able  to  read,  though  she  did  not  pretend  to  speak  it. 
On  going  to  Doncaster  I found  Latin  and  Greek  so  serious  a 
business  that  I wanted  to  lighten  my  burdens,  and  begged  to  be 
excused  from  going  on  with  French;  but  my  guardian  (who, 
with  all  her  exquisite  gentleness,  had  a very  strong  will) 
would  not  hear  of  any  such  abandonment,  and  wrote  very 
determinedly  on  the  subject  both  to  me  and  to  Mr.  Cape.  It 
is  extremely  probable  that  this  exercise  of  my  guardian’s  will 
may  have  had  a great  influence  on  my  future  life,  as  without 
some  early  knowledge  of  French  I might  not  have  felt  tempted 
to  pursue  the  study  later,  and  if  I had  never  spoken  French 
my  whole  existence  would  have  been  quite  different. 

Our  French  master  at  Doncaster  was  an  Italian  of  good 
family  named  Testa,  one  of  the  most  perfect  gentlemen  I ever 
met,  and  an  excellent  teacher.  My  deepest  regret  about  him 
now  is  that  I did  not  learn  Italian  with  him  also,  then  or 
afterwards.1  I learned  Italian  later  in  life,  and  with  a far 
inferior  master.  Signor  Testa  was  a tall,  thin  man,  of  rather 
cold  and  stately  manners,  with  a fine-looking,  noble  head 
covered  with  curly  brown  hair.  He  was  always  exquisitely 
clean  and  orderly,  both  about  his  person  and  the  books  and 
things  that  belonged  to  him  in  his  rooms,  where  there  was 
an  atmosphere  of  almost  feminine  refinement,  though  their 
occupant  was  by  no  means  effeminate  in  his  thoughts  or  bear- 
ing. We  understood  that  he  had  left  Italy  in  consequence  of 
some  political  difficulty,  and  we  knew  that  he  had  still  rela- 
tions there.  One  day,  as  we  were  engaged  with  our  lesson  at 
his  lodgings,  he  took  some  leaves  and  a faded  flower  or  two 
that  had  just  arrived  in  a letter  from  Italy,  and  said,  wTith 
tears  in  his  eyes,  “ These  have  come  from  my  father’s  place.” 
Now  it  so  happened  that  the  eldest  boy  in  our  class  was 
liable  to  fits  of  perfectly  uncontrollable  laughter  (what  the 
French  call  le  fou  rire)y  and,  as  the  reader  is  sure  to  know, 

1 It  is  astonishing  how  many  chances  of  improvement  young  men  fool- 
ishly allow  to  slip  by  them.  It  would  have  been  quite  worth  while  after 
I became  a free  agent  to  go  and  spend  six  months  or  more  at  Doncaster, 
simply  to  read  Italian  with  so  good  a master  as  Testa. 


46 


A UTOBIO  GRAPHY. 


if  he  has  ever  been  troubled  with  that  disease  himself,  the 
fit  very  often  comes  on  just  at  the  moment  when  the  patient 
feels  that  he  is  called  upon  to  look  particularly  grave.  This 
is  what  happened  in  the  present  case.  Our  unlucky  fellow- 
pupil  was  tickled  with  something  in  Testa’s  accent  or  manner, 
or  perhaps  as  he  was  an  English  boy  the  foreigner’s  tender- 
ness of  feeling  may  have  seemed  to  him  absurd;  but  whatever 
may  have  been  the  reason,  his  face  became  convulsed  with 
suppressed  laughter,  which  burst  forth  at  last  uncontrollably. 
This  made  the  rest  of  us  laugh  too  — not  at  poor  Testa,  but 
at  our  unworthy  comrade.  I shall  never  forget  the  Italian 
gentleman’s  look  on  that  occasion.  His  eyes  were  still  brim- 
ming with  tears,  but  he  laid  down  the  flattened  leaves  and 
flowers  and  looked  at  us  all  round  with  an  expression  that  cut 
me,  at  least,  to  the  quick.  “ Young  gentlemen ,”  he  said,  “ I 
did  not  expect  you  to  be  so  unkind .”  I longed  to  explain, 
but  did  not  find  words  at  the  moment,  and  we  went  on  with 
our  lesson.  The  fact  was  that  Testa  had  not  the  least  sense 
of  humor  in  his  composition,  and  so  he  could  not  understand 
what  had  happened.  A humorous  man,  acquainted  with  the 
nature  of  boys,  would  have  understood  the  attack  of  fou  rire , 
and  forgiven  it;  but  then  a humorous  man  would  have 
thought  twice  before  appealing  to  a set  of  English  boys  for 
sympathy  with  the  feelings  of  an  exile.  The  incident  cer- 
tainly increased  my  feelings  of  respect  for  Signor  Testa,  and 
made  me  try  to  please  him.  The  French  lessons  were  very 
agreeable  to  me,  and  besides  duly  preparing  them,  I read 
some  French  on  my  own  account,  and  acquired  a liking  for 
the  language  that  has  remained  with  me  ever  since. 

If  the  reader  has  the  sound  old-fashioned  notions  about  edu- 
cation by  which  all  subjects  were  strictly  divided  into  the  two 
classes  of  serious  and  frivolous  pursuits,  he  will  already  have 
suspicions  about  the  soundness  of  a training  that  included  the 
two  idle  accomplishments  of  Drawing  and  French,  and  what 
will  he  say,  I wonder,  when  music  is  added  to  the  list?  My 
initiation  into  music  took  place  in  the  following  manner. 
We  had  a dancing-master  who  came  regularly  to  Mr.  Cape’s 
house  to  prepare  us  to  shine  in  society,  and  his  instrument 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


47 


was  the  convenient  dancing-master’s  pocket  fiddle  or  kit. 
Although  this  instrument  gives  forth  hut  a feeble  kind  of 
music,  I was  far  more  enchanted  with  it  than  by  the  dancing, 
and  wrote  a most  persuasive  letter  to  my  good  guardian 
imploring  her  to  let  me  study  the  violin.  Those  were  the 
happy  times  when  one  had  energy  for  everything!  I had 
already  three  languages  on  hand,  and  the  art  of  painting  in 
water-colors,  besides  which  I was  in  a mathematical  school 
where  boys  were  prepared  for  Cambridge,1  but  there  seemed 
to  he  no  reason  why  the  art  of  violin-playing  should  not  be 
added  to  these  pursuits.  My  guardian,  before  consenting, 
prudently  wrote  to  Mr.  Cape  to  ask  if  this  new  accomplish- 
ment would  not  interfere  too  much  with  other  matters,  and 
his  answer  was  in  these  words : “ The  lad  is  getting  on  well 
enough  with  his  studies,  so  if  he  wants  to  amuse  himself  a 
little  by  scraping  catgut,  even  let  him  scrape  away ! ” It  will 
he  seen  that  Mr.  Cape  did  not  assign  to  music  the  high  rank 
in  education  which  has  been  attributed  to  it  by  some  famous 
thinkers  in  ancient  and  modern  times.  Few  musical  sensa- 
tions experienced  during  my  whole  life  have  equalled  in 
intensity  the  sensation  of  hearing  our  dancing-master  play 
upon  a full-sized  violin,  after  the  weak  and  thin  tones  that 
our  ears  had  been  accustomed  to  by  his  kit.  I was  so  little 
in  the  way  of  hearing  music  at  Doncaster  that  the  richer  note 
of  the  violin  seemed  musical  as  the  lyre  of  Apollo.  A con- 
trast so  striking  made  me  more  passionately  eager  to  learn, 
but  I was  informed  by  one  of  the  private  pupils  who  exercised 
considerable  authority  over  the  younger  hoys,  that  although  I 
might  study  the  violin  with  the  dancing-master,  I was  never 
to  practise  it  by  myself.  This  restriction  was  pardonable  in 
one  who  might  reasonably  dread  the  torturing  attempts  of  a 
beginner,  hut  it  was  certainly  not  favorable  to  my  progress. 
However,  in  course  of  time  it  came  to  he  relaxed;  that  is,  as 
soon  as  I could  play  tunes. 

It  is  very  odd  that  any  one  who  dislikes  dancing  as  heartily 

1 Doncaster  School  at  that  time  was  a sort  of  little  nursery  for  Cam- 
bridge. Mr.  Cape  was  a Cambridge  man,  and  so  was  his  brother,  the  able 
master  of  Peterborough  School. 


48 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


as  I have  always  disliked  it  in  manhood,  should  have  been 
rather  a brilliant  performer  when  a boy.  Our  dancing-master 
was  extremely  pleased  with  me,  and  encouraged  me  by  many 
compliments;  nay,  he  even  went  so  far  as  to  teach  me  a sailor’s 
hornpipe,  which  I danced  in  public  as  a pas  seul  when  the 
school  gave  a theatrical  entertainment  on  the  approach  of  the 
Christmas  holidays.  All  this  is  simply  inconceivable  now, 
for  there  is  nothing  which  bores  me  so  thoroughly  as  a hall, 
and  I would  at  any  time  travel  fifty  miles  to  avoid  one. 

At  school  the  principal  amusement  was  cricket,  for  which  I 
soon  acquired  an  intense  aversion.  All  games  bore  me  except 
chess  and  billiards,  and  it  was  especially  hard  to  be  compelled 
to  field  out  to  please  the  elder  boys,  and  so  waste  the  precious 
holiday  afternoons.  Our  cricket  ground  was  on  the  race- 
course, and  when  I could  get  away  I did  so  most  joyfully, 
and  betook  myself  to  a quiet  place  amongst  the  furze  nearer 
to  the  Red  House  than  the  Grand  Stand.  There  my  great 
delight  was  to  read  Scott’s  poems,  which  I possessed  in  pocket 
volumes.  The  same  volumes  are  in  my  study  now,  and 
simply  to  handle  them  is  enough  to  bring  back  many  sensa- 
tions of  long-past  boyhood.  Of  all  the  influences  that  had 
sway  over  me  in  those  days  and  for  long  afterwards,  the  influ- 
ence of  Scott  was  by  far  the  strongest.  A boy  cannot  make 
a better  choice.  Scott  has  the  immense  advantage  over  dull 
authors  of  being  almost  always  interesting,  and  the  equally 
great  advantage  over  many  exciting  authors  that  he  never 
leaves  an  unhealthy  feeling  in  the  mind.  I began  with  “ The 
Lady  of  the  Lake,”  then  read  “ Marmion,”  and  “ The  Lay  of 
the  Last  Minstrel”  and  the  Ballads,  and  finally  “ Rokeby.” 
These  were  in  separate  small  volumes,  which  gave  me  a desire 
to  possess  other  authors  in  the  same  convenient  form,  so  I 
added  Goldsmith,  Crabbe,  Kirke  White,  and  Moore’s  “Irish 
Melodies.”  A prize  for  history  gave  me  “ Paradise  Lost  ” in 
two  volumes  of  my  favorite  size,  and  two  school-fellows,  who 
saw  that  I had  a taste  for  such  volumes,  kindly  gave  me 
others.  During  the  holidays  my  guardian  authorized  the  pur- 
chase of  a Shakespeare  in  seven  pocket  volumes,  and  the 
“Spectator”  in  eight,  so  I had  quite  a little  library,  which 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


49 


became  inexpressibly  dear  to  me.  It  is  very  remarkable  that 
for  a long  time  I knew  Scott  thoroughly  as  a poet  without 
having  read  a single  novel  by  him.  Having  been  invited  by 
one  of  my  school-fellows  to  a country  house  not  very  far  from 
Doncaster,  I was  asked  by  the  lady  of  the  house  what  authors 
I had  read,  and  on  mentioning  Scott’s  poems  was  told  that  he 
was  greater  as  a novelist  than  as  a poet,  and  that  the  Waverley 
novels  were  certainly  his  finest  works.  This  seemed  incredi- 
ble to  me  then,  the  poems  being  so  delightful  that  they  could 
not  possibly  be  surpassed.  On  another  occasion  I happened 
to  be  standing  with  Mr.  Cape  in  the  little  chapel  at  Conis- 
borough  Castle,  and  having  heard  from  an  older  school-fellow 
that  Athelstane  had  died  there,  I asked  Mr.  Cape  if  it  was 
true.  “ Yes,”  he  answered,  “ if  you  believe  Sir  Walter  Scott.” 
Not  having  read  “ Ivanhoe,”  I was  under  the  impression  that 
the  Athelstane  in  question  was  an  historical  personage. 

Nothing  in  the  retrospect  of  life  strikes  me  as  more  aston- 
ishing than  the  rapid  mental  growth  that  must  have  taken 
place  between  the  date  of  my  father’s  death  and  its  second  or 
third  anniversary.  When  my  father  died  I was  simply  a 
child,  though  rather  a precocious  one,  as  the  journal  in  Wales 
testifies ; but  between  two  and  three  years  after  that  event  the 
child  had  become  a boy,  with  a keen  taste  for  literature, 
which,  if  it  had  been  taken  advantage  of  by  his  teachers, 
ought  to  have  made  his  education  a more  complete  success 
than  it  ever  became. 

The  misfortune  was  that  the  classics  were  not  taught  as 
literature  at  all,  but  as  exercises  in  grammar  and  prosody. 
They  were  dissected  by  teachers  who  were  simply  lecturers  on 
the  science  of  language,  and  who  had  not  large  views  even 
about  that.  Our  whole  attention  being  directed  to  the  techni- 
calities of  the  pedagogue,  we  did  not  perceive  that  the  classic 
authors  had  produced  poems  which,  as  literature,  were  not 
inferior  to  those  of  our  best  English  poets.  So  it  happened 
that  those  of  us  who  had  literary  tastes  were  content  to  satisfy 
them  in  reading  English  authors,  and  left  them,  as  it  were, 
at  the  door  of  the  classroom.  I worked  courageously  enough 
at  the  Latin  books  which  were  set  before  me,  but  never  found 

4 


50 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


the  slightest  enjoyment  in  them;  indeed,  it  was  only  much 
later,  and  through  the  medium  of  French  and  Italian,  that  I 
gained  some  partial  access  to  the  literary  beauty  of  Latin. 
As  for  Greek,  I began  it  vigorously  at  Doncaster,  but  I did 
not  get  beyond  the  rudiments  during  my  stay  there. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


51 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

1845. 

Early  attempts  in  English  verse.  — Advantages  of  life  at  Doncaster.  — A 
school  incident.  — Fagging.  — Story  of  a dog.  — Robbery. — My  school- 
fellow, Henry  Alexander.  — His  remarkable  influence.  — Other  school- 
fellows. — Story  of  a boat.  — A swimming  adventure.  — Our  walks  and 
battles. 

The  love  of  literature  was  naturally  followed  by  some  early 
attempts  at  versification  in  English,  which  is  generally  looked 
upon  as  a silly  waste  of  time  in  a boy,  though  if  he  writes  Latin 
verses,  which  we  were  taught  to  do,  he  is  thought  to  be  seri- 
ously occupied.  From  the  age  of  eleven  to  that  of  twenty-one 
I wrote  English  verses  very  frequently,  and  am  now  very  glad 
I did  so,  being  quite  convinced  that  it  was  a most  profitable  ex- 
ercise in  the  language.  My  early  verses  were  invariably  echoes 
of  my  dearly  beloved  Sir  Walter  Scott,  a master  whom  it  is  not 
very  difficult  to  imitate  so  far  as  mere  versification  is  concerned. 
One  little  incident  about  this  early  verse- making  is  worth  men- 
tioning in  this  place.  I was  staying  for  a few  days  with  a 
school-fellow  at  a house  near  Doncaster,  when  I dreamed  a new 
ballad  about  a shipwreck,  and  on  awaking  wrote  it  down  at  once. 
The  thing  would  not  be  worth  quoting,  if  it  were  possible  to 
remember  it ; but  it  was  correct  enough  in  rhymes  and  metre. 

My  life  at  Doncaster  was  not  on  the  whole  unhappy,  and  the 
steady  discipline  of  the  school  was  doing  me  much  good.  Mr. 
Cape  was  a very  severe  master,  and  he  used  the  cane  very 
freely ; but  to  a boy  who  had  lived  under  the  tyranny  of  my 
father  Mr.  Cape’s  severity  seemed  a light  affliction.  He  kept 
up  his  dignity  by  seldom  appearing  in  the  schoolroom ; he  sat 
in  his  library  or  in  the  dining-room  in  a large  morocco-covered 
arm-chair,  holding  a book  in  one  hand  whilst  the  other  was 
always  ready  to  clasp  the  cane  that  he  kept  close  by.  Any 


52 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


failure  of  memory  would  cause  him  to  dart  a severe  look  at  the 
delinquent,  a false  quantity  made  him  scowl,  and  when  he 
suspected  real  carelessness  the  cane  was  resorted  to  at  once. 
Unfortunately  he  could  not  apply  it  and  keep  his  temper  at  the 
same  time.  The  exercise  roused  him  to  fury,  and  a punish- 
ment which  in  his  first  intention  was  to  have  been  mild  became 
cruel  through  the  effect  of  his  own  rapidly  increasing  irritation. 
Mr.  Cape’s  health  was  not  good,  and  no  doubt  this  added  to  the 
natural  irritability  of  his  temper.  There  was  one  unfortunate 
youngster  whose  hands  were  covered  with  chilblains,  and  who 
was  constantly  displeasing  Mr.  Cape  by  inattention  or  inaccu- 
racy, so  he  incurred  such  perpetual  canings  that  his  hands  were 
pitiable  to  see,  and  must  have  been  extremely  painful.  Our 
head-master  was  no  doubt  laudably,  or  selfishly,  anxious  that 
we  should  get  on  with  our  work  so  as  to  do  him  credit  at 
Cambridge,  where  most  of  us  were  expected  to  go;  but  he 
seemed  almost  incapable  of  pity.  I remember  having  the  in- 
tense pleasure  of  playing  him  a little  trick  just  after  he  had  been 
caning  a lad  who  was  a very  good  friend  of  mine. 

It  happened  in  this  way  — but  first  I must  describe  the 
topography  of  the  place.  Mr.  Cape’s  house  was  a tall  brick 
building  that  looked  upon  the  street  on  one  side,  and  on  our 
playground  (which  had  formerly  been  a garden)  on  the  other. 
At  the  other  end  of  the  garden  was  a wash-house  with  the 
schoolroom  over  it,  and  in  the  wash-house  there  was  a large 
copper  for  boiling  linen.  In  the  house  the  dining-room  looked 
over  the  play-ground,  and  it  somehow  happened  (perhaps  it  was 
in  the  Easter  holidays)  that  there  were  no  pupils  left  in  the 
place  but  my  friend  Brokenribs  and  I.  1 Mr.  Cape  called  him 
up  into  the  dining-room  after  dark,  and  began  to  thrash  him. 
Brokenribs,  after  some  time,  began  to  think  that  a sufficient 
number  of  strokes  had  been  administered,  and  put  the  dining- 
table  between  himself  and  his  adversary,  who  could  not  get  at 
him  any  longer.  I was  in  the  playground,  and  understood  all 
that  was  passing  by  the  shadows  on  the  window-blinds.  It  was 

1 We  always  called  him  Brokenribs,  which  recalled  his  real  name  by  a 
sort  of  imitation ; besides  which,  though  his  ribs  had  not  actually  been 
broken,  he  had  suffered  from  a good  many  bruises. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


53 


most  amusing  to  me,  as  a spectator,  to  see  the  shadow  of  Brok- 
enribs  flit  rapidly  past,  and  still  better  perhaps  to  see  it  followed 
by  that  of  Mr.  Cape,  with  bald  head  and  uplifted  cane.  When 
this  entertainment  had  lasted  some  time  I heard  a great  hang- 
ing of  doors,  and  Brokenribs  issued  from  the  house,  rushing 
like  a hunted  deer  the  whole  length  of  the  playground.  “ Cape ’s 
after  me  ! ” he  said.  “ Where  shall  I hide  1 ” “ In  the  copper ! ” 
I answered  with  a sudden  inspiration,  and  ran  into  the  wash- 
house with  him,  where  I lifted  the  lid  and  stowed  him  away 
in  safety.  The  lid  had  but  just  been  replaced  when  Mr.  Cape 
appeared  in  the  playground  and  asked  if  I had  seen  Brokenribs. 
“ Yes,  sir,  certainly ; he  was  running  this  way,  sir.”  I accom- 
panied Mr.  Cape  into  the  wash-house,  which  had  an  outer  door 
giving  access  to  a lane,  and  observed  with  pleasure  that  he  was 
forced  to  the  irresistible  conclusion  that  Brokenribs  had  taken 
flight.  The  lad’s  parents  lived  at  an  accessible  distance  (per- 
haps twenty  miles),  so  Mr.  Cape  was  tormented  with  the  un- 
pleasant idea  that  the  lad  had  gone  home  to  tell  his  own  story. 
He  therefore  ordered  a gig  and  drove  off  so  as  to  catch  Broken- 
ribs during  his  flight.  As  my  friend  had  been  sitting  in  cold 
water,  I got  him  out  when  the  coast  was  clear,  and  made  him 
go  to  bed,  where  the  housekeeper  sent  him  a treacle  posset. 
After  driving  many  a mile  in  vain,  Mr.  Cape  returned  very  late, 
and  never  said  a word  on  the  subject  to  either  of  us. 

Poor  Brokenribs  was  not  only  very  often  caned,  but  he  was 
fag  to  a tyrannical  private  pupil,  who  made  him  suffer  severely. 
The  private  pupils  upheld  the  sacred  institution  of  fagging, 
which  gave  them  a pleasant  sense  of  authority,  and  as  they  sat 
like  gods  above  us,  they  were  not  in  danger  of  retaliation. 
Brokenribs  was  fag  to  a young  man  who  determined  that  he 
should  learn  two  things,  — first,  to  endure  pain  without  flinching, 
and  secondly,  to  smoke  tobacco.  To  achieve  the  first  of  these 
great  purposes,  he  used  to  twist  the  lad’s  arms  and  administer  a 
certain  number  of  hard  blows  upon  them.  This  he  did  every  day 
so  long  as  the  whim  lasted.  As  for  the  smoking,  poor  Broken- 
ribs had  to  smoke  a certain  number  of  pipes  every  day.  A 
single  pipe  made  him  look  ghastly,  and  the  whole  series  made 
him  dreadfully  ill.  I remember  his  white  face  at  such  times; 


54 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


but  he  attained  his  reward  in  becoming  an  accomplished  and 
precocious  smoker. 

I was  fag  myself  at  one  time  to  a private  pupil ; but  he  was 
not  very  tyrannical  with  me,  and  only  ordered  me  to  light 
fires,  which  was  a valuable  element  in  my  education.  It  gives 
one  a fine  independence  of  servants  to  be  able  to  light  a fire 
quickly  and  well.  This  accomplishment  enables  a man  to  get 
up  as  early  as  he  chooses,  even  in  winter,  and  I have  never 
forgotten  it;  indeed,  I lighted  a fire  an  hour  before  writing 
this  page.  In  my  opinion,  it  would  be  wise  to  teach  every 
boy  the  art  of  doing  without  servants  on  occasion. 

The  private  pupils  exercised  authority  in  other  ways  than 
by  converting  us  into  fags.  It  so  happened  that  I became 
possessor  of  an  unfortunate  tawny  dog.  How  one  boy  should 
be  owner  of  a dog  at  school  when  the  others  had  nothing  to  do 
with  him  may  be  difficult  to  understand ; and  indeed  my  owner- 
ship did  not  last  for  very  long,  but  it  was  pleasant  to  me  whilst 
it  lasted.  The  poor  beast,  if  I remember  rightly,  belonged  to 
somebody  who  did  not  want  him,  and  was  going  to  have  him 
slain.  I had  always  an  intense  affection  for  dogs,  and  begged 
Mr.  Cape  to  let  me  keep  this  one,  promising  that  it  should  not 
be  a nuisance.  I was  rather  a favorite  with  the  head-master, 
so  he  granted  this  very  extraordinary  request,  and  it  was  under- 
stood that  the  dog  was  to  lodge  in  a box  in  the  wash-house.  I 
bought  some  fresh  straw  for  him,  and  took  the  greatest  care  of 
him,  so  that  he  soon  became  strongly  attached  to  me.  Had 
there  been  no  private  pupils  the  creature  would  have  been  safe 
enough,  as  I would  have  fought  any  lad  of  my  own  age  in  his 
behalf,  and  Brokenribs,  who  was  older,  would  have  fought  the 
bigger  boys;  but  we  none  of  us  dared  to  resist  the  privates,  who 
were  grown  men.  One  of  the  privates  thought  that  a small 
boy  ought  not  to  possess  a dog,  and  began  to  affirm  that  the 
Euiimal  was  a nuisance.  He  then  said  it  would  be  an  improve- 
ment to  cut  off  its  tail,  which  he  did  accordingly,  in  spite  of  all 
my  remonstrances.  I pitied  the  poor  beast  when  it  lay  suffer- 
ing with  its  bleeding  stump,  and  did  all  that  affection  could 
suggest  for  its  consolation;  but  shortly  afterwards  the  same  pri- 
vate pupil,  who  had  a taste  for  pistol-shooting,  thought  it  would 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


55 


be  good  fun  to  shoot  at  a living  target,  so  he  took  my  dog  away 
into  a field  and  shot  him  there.  I knew  what  he  was  going  to 
do,  but  had  no  power  to  prevent  it,  as  he  had  begun  by  per- 
suading Mr.  Cape  that  the  poor  beast  was  a nuisance,  which 
he  certainly  was  not.  He  was  a very  quiet,  timid  dog,  of  an 
anxious,  apprehensive  temperament,  having  probably  never  had 
reason  to  place  much  trust  in  the  human  species. 

There  was  one  lad  at  the  school  who  was  a coarse  bully,  and 
I remember  his  playing  a trick  on  me  which  was  nothing  less 
than  pure  brigandage.  He  ordered  me  to  give  him  my  keys, 
and  rummaged  in  my  private  box.  He  found  a small  telescope 
in  it  which  was  to  his  liking,  and  took  it.  I never  got  any  re- 
dress about  that  telescope,  as  the  bully  coolly  said  it  had  always 
belonged  to  him,  and  he  was  powerful  enough  to  act  on  the 
great  principle  that  la  force  prime  le  droit . 

It  is  most  astonishing  how  some  boys  gain  a great  ascendency 
over  others  when  there  seems  to  be  no  substantial  reason  for  it. 
One  of  my  school-fellows,  who  was  cousin  to  some  of  my 
cousins,  and  bore  my  surname  as  one  of  his  Christian  names, 
had  quite  a remarkable  ascendency  over  boys,  and  yet  he  had  not 
the  physical  size  and  strength  which  usually  impose  upon  them. 
He  was  slight  and  small,  though  he  had  a handsome  face ; but 
he  had  an  aristocratic  temperament,  which  inspired  a sort  of  re- 
spect, and  a governing  disposition,  which  made  other  boys  yield 
to  him.  Nothing  was  more  curious  than  to  see  how  com- 
pletely the  bully  effaced  himself  before  that  young  gentleman’s 
superiority.  The  bully  was  also  a snob,  and  probably  believed 
that  Henry  Alexander  belonged  to  the  highest  aristocracy. 
He  was  well  descended  and  well  connected  (there  was  an 
abeyant  peerage  in  his  family),  but  in  point  of  fact,  his  social 
position  was  not  better  than  that  of  some  other  boys  in  the 
school.  I remember  well  the  intense  astonishment  of  the  bully 
when  he  found  out  one  day  that  Alexander  bore  my  name  as  a 
Christian  name,  and  learned  the  reason. 

Alexander  was  a perfect  little  dandy,  being  at  all  times  ex- 
ceptionally well  dressed  for  a schoolboy,  and  on  Sundays  he 
came  out  with  remarkable  splendor.  In  spring  and  summer  he 
wore  a jacket  and  trousers  of  the  most  fashionable  cut  and  of 


56 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


the  very  finest  blue  cloth,  with  a gloss  upon  it,  and  a white 
waistcoat  adorned  with  a bunch  of  valuable  trinkets  to  his  watch- 
chain.  His  hat,  his  gloves,  his  wonderfully  small  boots,  were 
all  the  pink  of  perfection.  He  smoked  very  good  cigars,  and 
talked  about  life  with  an  air  of  the  most  consummate  experience, 
that  gained  him  profound  respect.  Most  boys  hesitate  about 
the  choice  of  a profession,  but  Alexander  had  no  such  indecision. 
He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  be  an  officer,  with  his  father’s 
consent,  and  guided  by  a sure  instinct,  as  he  had  exactly  the 
qualities  to  make  himself  respected  in  a regiment.  It  does  a 
young  officer  no  harm  to  be  rather  a dandy  and  to  shine  in 
society,  whilst  the  extreme  decision  and  promptitude  of 
Alexander’s  peremptory  will,  and  the  natural  ease  with  which 
he  assumed  authority,  would  be  most  useful  in  command.  A 
few  years  later  he  joined  the  64th  Regiment  and  went  to 
India,  where  in  spite  of  his  rather  delicate  frame  he  became 
an  active  sportsman.  One  day,  however,  the  surgeon  of  the 
regiment  saw  him  by  accident  in  his  bath,  and  declared  that  he 
was  too  thin  to  be  well,  so  he  examined  him,  and  found  that 
consumption  had  begun.  Alexander  returned  to  England, 
where  he  lingered  a few  months,  and  then  died.  He  came  to 
see  me  not  very  long  before  his  death,  not  looking  nearly  so 
ill  as  I had  expected,  but  the  doctor  knew  best.  With  better 
health  he  might  have  had  a brilliant  career,  and  was  certain, 
at  least,  to  be  an  efficient  and  popular  officer,  with  the  right 
degree  of  love  for  his  profession. 

Another  of  my  fellow-pupils  who  died  early  was  the  eldest 
son  and  heir  of  a country  squire,  and  one  of  the  handsomest 
and  most  able  young  men  I ever  met.  He  was  a private  pupil, 
yet  not  at  all  disliked  by  the  younger  boys,  as  he  was  always 
kind  and  friendly  towards  us.  There  was  a project  for  his 
going  out  to  India,  and  he  talked  over  the  matter  with  his 
father  one  evening  at  his  own  home.  A dispute  arose  between 
father  and  son  as  they  sat  talking  late,  and  when  they  separated 
for  the  night  they  were  not  on  good  terms.  The  next  morning 
the  young  gentleman  was  found  dead  in  bed  under  circum- 
stances which  led  to  a very  strong  suspicion  of  suicide.  We 
were  all  deeply  grieved  by  his  death,  as  he  seemed  to  have  the 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


57 


best  gifts  of  Nature,  and  life  was  opening  so  brightly  before 
him ; but  he  had  a very  high  spirit,  and  if  he  really  did  commit 
suicide,  which  is  not  improbable,  it  is  very  likely  that  his  pride 
had  been  wounded.  Whenever  I read  in  the  poets  or  elsewhere 
of  gifted  young  men  who  have  ended  sadly  and  prematurely, 
his  image  rises  before  me,  though  it  is  now  forty  years  since  we 
met.  Poor  Brokenribs  is  gone  too,  though  he  lived  long  enough 
to  be  a clergyman  for  some  years.  He  was  a thoroughly  good 
fellow,  bearing  all  his  hardships  with  admirable  equanimity. 

Before  quitting  the  history  of  my  school-days,  I ought,  per- 
haps, to  tell  the  story  of  a great  swimming  exploit  whereof  I 
was  the  hero.  The  reader,  after  this  expression,  will  count 
upon  some  display  of  prowess  and  of  vanity  at  the  same  time, 
but  there  is  neither  in  this  case. 

After  I had  been  at  Doncaster  about  a year,  one  of  the  pri- 
vate pupils  came  to  me  one  day  with  a pencil  and  a piece  of 
paper  in  his  hand,  and  said,  “We  are  going  to  buy  a boat  at 
Cambridge ; will  you  subscribe  ? ” Now  it  so  happened  that  I 
was  born  a boating  creature,  just  as  decidedly  as  I was  not 
born  to  be  a cricketing  creature,  and  such  a question  addressed 
to  me  was  much  as  if  one  said  to  a young  duck,  “ Would  you 
like  to  go  on  the  pond,  or  would  you  prefer  being  shut  up  in  a 
cage  ? ” Of  course  I said  “ yes  ” at  once,  and  wrote  an  artful 
letter  to  my  dear  guardian  begging  for  the  four  guineas  which 
were  to  constitute  me  a shareholder  in  the  expected  vessel. 

The  future  captain  of  the  boat  took  my  money  very  readily 
when  it  came,  and  nobody  could  have  felt  more  certain  of  a 
boating  career  than  I did;  but  just  before  the  arrival  of  the 
vessel  itself,  it  occurred  to  Mr.  Cape  (rather  late  in  the  day) 
that  he  would  take  a prudent  precaution,  so  he  issued  a ukase 
to  the  effect  that  none  but  good  swimmers  were  to  make  any 
use  of  the  boat.  Now  I had  often  heard,  and  read  too  in  books, 
that  man  was  naturally  a swimming  animal,  and  that  any  one 
who  was  thrown  into  water  would  swim  if  only  he  was  not 
afraid,  so  I said  inwardly,  “ It  is  true  that  I never  did  swim, 
but  that  is  probably  because  I have  only  bathed  in  shallow 
water;  I have  courage  enough,  and  if  they  pitch  me  into  the 
river  Don,  most  probably  I shall  swim,  as  man  is  naturally  a 


58 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


swimming  animal  and  fear  is  the  only  impediment.”  One  day 
at  dinner  Mr.  Cape  asked  all  the  subscribers,  one  after  another, 
if  they  could  swim.  There  was  a hoy  of  about  fourteen  who 
was  a splendid  swimmer,  and  well  known  for  such  both  to  the 
masters  and  his  school-fellows,  but  Mr.  Cape  did  not  omit  him, 
and  I envied  the  simple  ease  of  his  “ Yes,  sir.”  When  it  came 
to  me,  I too  said  “ Yes,  sir,  ” affecting  the  same  ease,  and  Mr. 
Cape  looked  at  me,  and  the  assistant-master  looked  at  me,  and 
every  one  of  the  fellows  looked  at  me,  and  then  a slight  smile 
was  visible  on  all  their  countenances.  After  dinner  the  fine 
swimmer  expressed  his  regret  that  he  had  not  known  sooner 
about  my  possession  of  this  accomplishment,  as  we  might  have 
enjoyed  it  together  in  the  Don.  The  next  Saturday  afternoon 
was  fine,  so  the  swimmers  went  to  the  river  with  the  assistant- 
master,  and  I was  very  politely  invited  to  accompany  them. 
On  this  an  older  boy,  who  had  always  been  kind  to  me,  said 
privately,  “ You  can’t  swim,  I know  you  can’t,  and  you ’d 
better  confess  it,  for  if  you  don’t,  you  run  a good  chance  of 
being  drowned  this  afternoon ; the  water  is  thirty  feet  deep.  ” 
I answered,  with  cold  thanks,  that  my  friend’s  apprehensions 
were  groundless;  and  we  set  off. 

On  our  way  to  the  river  the  unpleasant  reflection  occurred 
to  my  mind,  that  possibly  the  books  and  the  people  might  be 
wrong,  and  that  mere  courage  might  not  enable  me  to  dispense 
with  acquired  skill.1  But  I put  awaj'  this  idea  as  too  dis- 
agreeable to  he  dwelt  upon.  Unfortunately  the  disagreeable 
idea  that  we  set  aside  is  often  the  true  and  the  wise  one. 

As  we  went  through  the  town  to  the  water  the  hoy  who  had 
expressed  his  scepticism  disappeared  for  a moment  in  a rope- 
maker’s  shop,  and  soon  emerged  with  a long  and  strong  cord  over 
his  shoulder.  I guessed  what  that  was  for,  and  felt  humiliated, 
but  said  nothing.  The  swimmers  stripped  and  plunged,  but 
just  at  the  moment  when  I was  going  to  plunge  too  I felt  the 
strong  hand  of  the  assistant-master  on  my  shoulder,  and  he 

1 The  doctrine  that  courage  is  enough  is  most  mischievous  and  perilous 
nonsense.  I have  become  a good  swimmer  since  those  days,  and  have 
taught  my  sons : but  we  had  to  learn  it  as  an  art,  just  as  one  learns  to 
skate. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


59 


said,  “ Wait  one  moment.”  The  moment  was  employed  by  my 
school-fellow  in  fastening  the  cord  round  my  waist.  “ Now, 
plunge  as  much  as  you  like ! ” 

I was  soon  in  the  depths  and  struggling  to  get  to  the  surface, 
but,  somehow,  did  not  swim.  My  preserver  on  the  bank 
thought  it  would  be  as  well  to  convince  me  of  my  inability  by 
a prolonged  immersion,  so  he  let  me  feel  the  unpleasant  begin- 
ning of  drowning.  They  say  that  the  sensation  is  delightful 
at  a later  stage,  and  that  the  patient  dreams  he  is  walking  in 
flowery  meadows  on  the  land.  The  first  stage  is  undoubtedly  dis- 
agreeable, — the  oppression,  the  desire  to  breathe,  are  horrible, 
— but  I did  not  get  so  far  as  to  fill  the  lungs  with  water.  Just 
in  proper  time  there  came  a great  tug  at  the  cord,  and  I was 
fished  up.  I dressed,  and  felt  very  small,  looking  with  envy 
on  the  real  swimmers,  and  especially  at  the  fat  usher,  who  was 
rolling  about  like  a porpoise  in  the  middle  of  the  river. 

The  boat  came,  and  I was  allowed  only  to  see  her  from  the 
bank.  How  lovely  she  looked  with  her  outside  varnish  and 
her  internal  coat  of  Cambridge  blue!  How  beautiful  were  the 
light  and  elegant  oars  that  I was  forbidden  to  touch ! 

Some  time  after  that  one  of  my  school-fellows  said:  “You 
know,  Hamerton,  you  ’re  just  as  well  out  of  that  boat  as  in  her, 
for  whenever  we  want  to  go  out  on  Wednesday  or  Saturday 
afternoons  we  always  find  that  the  privates  have  got  the  start 
of  us.  The  fact  is,  the  boat  is  as  if  she  belonged  to  them.” 
In  a word,  the  private  pupils  looked  on  the  aspirations  of  the 
others  with  marked  disapproval.  There  ought,  of  course,  to 
have  been  a plurality  of  boats;  but  Mr.  Cape  was  not  himself 
a boating  man,  and  did  not  encourage  the  amusement.  He 
dreaded  the  responsibility  for  accidents. 

One  result  of  my  adventure  was  a firm  resolution  that  I 
would  learn  to  swim,  and  not  only  that,  but  become  really  a 
good  swimmer.  I never  attempted  anything  that  seemed  so 
hopelessly  difficult  for  me,  or  in  which  my  progress  was  so 
slow ; but  in  course  of  time  I did  swim,  and  many  years  after- 
wards, from  daily  practice  in  the  longer  and  warmer  summers 
of  France,  I became  an  expert,  able  to  read  a book  aloud  in 
deep  water  whilst  holding  it  up  with  both  hands,  or  to  swim 


60 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


with  all  my  clothes  on  and  a pair  of  heavy  boots,  using  one 
hand  only  and  carrying  a paddle  in  the  other,  whilst  I drew  a 
small  boat  after  me.  The  perseverance  that  led  to  this  ulti- 
mate result  is  entirely  due  to  that  early  misadventure  at  Don- 
caster. I have  learned  one  or  two  other  things  in  consequence 
of  being  stung  with  shame  in  a like  manner,  and  am  convinced 
that  there  is  nothing  better  for  a hoy  than  to  be  roused  to  per- 
severance in  that  way. 

I never  felt  the  least  shame,  however,  in  not  being  able  to 
play  cricket  in  a manner  to  please  connoisseurs.  I hated  the 
game  from  the  very  beginning,  and  it  was  pure  slavery  to  me, 
and  I never  had  the  faintest  desire  to  excel  in  it  or  even  to 
learn  it.  This  dislike  was  a misfortune,  as  not  to  love  cricket 
is  a cause  of  isolation  for  an  English  boy. 

A kind  of  exercise  that  I was  fond  of  was  ordinary  walking. 
We  often  took  long  walks  on  half-holidays  that  were  delightful, 
and  I have  escaped  very  early  on  the  summer  mornings  and 
taken  a walk  round  the  race-course,  being  back  in  time  for  the 
usual  hour  of  rising.  This,  however,  was  found  out  in  course 
of  time  and  put  an  end  to;  but  I had  occasional  headaches, 
so  the  doctor  (who  was  a very  kind  friend  of  mine  and  invited  me 
to  his  house)  told  Mr.  Cape  that  he  must  send  me  out  for  a walk 
when  I had  a headache.  “ But  how  am  I to  know  that  his  head 
really  aches  ? ” inquired  the  head-master.  I heard  the  reply  and 
took  note  of  it.  The  doctor  said  it  would  usually  be  accompan- 
ied with  flushing ; so  whenever  I thought  I was  sufficiently  red 
in  the  face  I applied  for  leave  to  go  to  the  race-course. 

The  doctor  had  a son  who  was  a good-natured,  pleasant  boy 
about  my  own  age.  There  never  was  the  slightest  ill-feeling 
between  us,  but  quite  the  contrary ; and  yet  we  fought  many 
a hard  battle  simply  because  the  elder  boys  backed  us  and  set 
us  on.  They  enjoyed  the  sport  as  they  would  have  enjoyed 
cock-fighting,  though  perhaps  not  quite  so  much,  as  it  was  not 
quite  so  bloody  and  barbarous.  This  fighting  was  of  no  practi- 
cal use ; but  if  I had  been  able  to  thrash  the  bully  who  took 
my  telescope  that  would  have  been  of  some  use.  Unfortu- 
nately he  was  my  senior,  and  considerably  my  superior  in 
strength,  so  prudence  forbade  the  combat. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


61 


CHAPTER  IX. 

1846. 

Early  interest  in  theology.  — Reports  of  sermons.  — Qniet  influence  of 
Mr.  Cape.  — Failure  of  Mr.  Cape’s  health.  — His  death. 

During  the  time  of  my  life  at  Doncaster  I was  extremely 
religious,  having  a firm  belief  in  providential  interferences  on 
my  behalf,  even  in  trifling  matters,  such  as  being  asked  to 
stay  from  Saturday  to  Monday  in  the  country.  My  prayers 
had  especial  reference  to  a country  house  that  belonged  to 
an  old  lady  who  was  grandmother  to  a friend  of  mine,  and 
extended  a sort  of  grandmotherly  kindness  to  myself  also.1 

At  Doncaster  we  were  always  obliged  to  take  notes  of  the 
sermons,  and  write  them  out  afterwards  in  an  abridged  form. 
As  I had  a theological  turn,  I sometimes  inserted  passages  of 
my  own  in  these  reports  which  made  the  masters  declare  that 
they  did  not  remember  hearing  the  preacher  say  that;  and  on 
one  occasion,  being  full  of  ideas  of  my  own  about  the  text  which 
had  effectually  supplanted  those  of  the  preacher,  I produced 
a complete  original  sermon,  which  cost  me  a reprimand,  but 
evidently  excited  the  interest  of  the  master.  Dr.  Sharpe  was 
Vicar  of  Doncaster  in  those  days,  but  after  forty  years  I 
may  be  excused  if  I do  not  remember  much  about  what  he 
preached.  The  pulpit  was  arranged  in  the  old-fashioned 
three  stages,  for  preacher,  reader,  and  clerk,  and  on  one  occa- 
sion the  highest  of  these  was  occupied  by  the  famous  Dr. 
Wolff,  the  missionary  to  Bokhara.  He  was  a most  energetic 
preacher,  who  thumped  and  pushed  his  cushion  in  a restless 

1 She  was  a very  remarkable  and  peculiar  old  lady.  The  house  was 
very  large  ; hut  she  would  only  use  a few  small  rooms.  She  never  would 
travel  by  railway,  but  made  long  journeys,  as  well  as  short  ones,  in  an  old 
carriage  drawn  by  a pair  of  farm-horses.  She  had  a much  handsomer 
carriage  in  the  coach-house,  a state  affair,  that  was  never  used. 


62 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


way,  so  that  at  last  he  fairly  pushed  it  off  its  desk  He  was 
quick  enough  to  catch  it  by  the  tassel,  hut  he  did  not  catch 
his  Bible,  which  fell  on  Dr.  Sharpe’s  head  or  shoulder,  and 
thence  to  the  floor  of  the  church.  It  was  impossible  to  keep 
quite  grave  under  the  circumstances.  Even  the  clergy  smiled, 
the  clerk  sought  refuge  in  fetching  the  fallen  volume,  and  a 
thrill  of  humorous  feeling  ran  through  the  congregation. 

Mr.  Cape  did  not  say  much  to  us  about  religion.  He  read 
prayers  every  morning  and  evening,  and  once  or  twice  I heard 
him  preach  when  he  took  duty  in  a village  church  not  far 
from  the  famous  castle  of  Conisborough.  There  is  an  advan- 
tage to  an  active-minded  boy  in  being  with  a quiet  routine- 
clergyman  like  Mr.  Cape,  who  proposes  no  exciting  questions. 
I came  under  a very  different  influence  afterwards,  which 
plunged  me  into  the  stormy  ocean  of  theological  controversies 
at  a time  of  life  when  it  would  have  been  better  for  me  not 
to  concern  myself  about  such  matters.  The  religion  of  a boy 
should  be  quiet  and  practical,  and  his  theology  should  be  as 
simple  as  possible,  and  quite  uncontroversial  in  its  temper. 
That  was  my  case  at  Doncaster;  I was  a very  firm  believer, 
but  simply  a Christian  not  belonging  to  any  party  in  the 
Church  of  England,  and  hardly,  indeed,  in  any  but  an  acci- 
dental way  to  the  Church  of  England  herself.  Nothing  could 
have  been  better.  A boy  is  not  answerable  for  the  doctrines 
which  are  imposed  upon  him  by  his  elders,  and  if  they  have 
a beneficial  effect  upon  his  conduct  he  need  not,  whilst  he 
remains  a boy,  trouble  himself  to  inquire  further. 

Mr.  Cape’s  health  was  gradually  failing  during  the  time  of 
my  stay  at  Doncaster  School,  and  on  the  beginning  of  my  fourth 
half-year  after  a holiday  I found  the  house  managed  by  his 
sister,  and  Mr.  Cape  himself  confined  to  his  room  with  hope- 
less disease.  Very  shortly  afterwards  the  few  boys  who  had 
come  were  sent  home  again,  and  Mr.  Cape  died.  His  sister 
was  a kind  old  maid,  who  at  once  conceived  a sort  of  aunt- 
like affection  for  me,  and  I remember  that  when  I left  she 
gave  me  a kiss  on  the  forehead.  I was  grieved  to  part  with 
her,  and  showed  some  real  sympathy  with  her  sorrow  about 
her  dying  brother.  I felt  some  grief  on  my  own  account  for 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY . 


63 


Mr.  Cape,  though  he  had  thrashed  me  many  a time  with  his 
ever-ready  cane.  Altogether  the  three  half-years  at  Doncaster 
had  been  well  spent,  and  I had  got  well  on  with  my  work. 

Mr.  Cape’s  brother  kept  a good  school  at  Peterborough,  and 
wanted  to  have  me  for  a pupil,  but  as  he  was  especially  strong 
in  mathematics,  and  prepared  young  men  for  Cambridge,  it 
was  thought  that,  as  I was  to  go  to  Oxford,  it  would  be  better 
that  I should  study  under  an  Oxford  man.  I never  had  the 
slightest  natural  bent  for  mathematics,  though  I did  the  tasks 
that  were  imposed  upon  me  in  a perfunctory  manner,  and  with 
sufficient  accuracy  just  to  satisfy  my  masters. 


64 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY . 


CHAPTER  X. 

1847-1849. 

My  education  becomes  less  satisfactory.  — My  guardian's  state  of  health. 
— I pursue  my  studies  at  Burnley.  — Dr.  Butler.  — He  encourages  me 
to  write  English.  — Extract  from  a prize  poem.  — Public  discussions 
in  Burnley  School,  — A debate  on  Queen  Elizabeth. 

The  story  of  my  education  becomes  less  satisfactory  for  me 
to  write  as  I proceed  with  it.  At  thirteen  I was  a well- 
educated  boy  for  my  age,  at  fifteen  or  sixteen  I had  fallen 
behind,  and  if  I have  now  any  claim  to  be  considered  a fairly 
well-educated  man,  it  is  due  to  efforts  made  since  youth  was 
past. 

The  main  cause  of  this  retardation  may  be  told  before  pro- 
ceeding further.  I have  already  said  what  a strong  affection 
I had  for  my  guardian.  It  was  a well-placed  affection,  as 
she  was  one  of  the  noblest  and  best  women  who  ever  lived, 
and  all  my  gratitude  to  her,  though  it  filled  my  heart  like  a 
religion,  was  not  half  what  she  deserved  or  what  my  maturer 
judgment  now  feels  towards  her  memory;  but  like  all  strong 
affections,  it  carried  its  own  penalty  along  with  it.  About 
the  time  of  Mr.  Cape’s  death,  I happened  to  be  staying  with 
some  near  relations,  and  one  of  them  made  a casual  allusion 
to  my  guardian’s  heart-disease.  I had  never  heard  of  this, 
and  was  inexpressibly  affected  by  the  news.  My  informant 
said  that  the  disease  was  absolutely  incurable,  and  might  at 
any  time  cause  sudden  death.  This  was  unhappily  the  exact 
truth,  and  from  that  moment  I looked  upon  my  dear  guardian 
with  other  eyes.  The  doctors  could  not  say  how  long  she 
might  live;  there  was  no  especial  immediate  danger,  and  with 
care,  by  incurring  no  risks,  her  life  might  be  prolonged  for 
years.  After  the  first  shock  produced  by  this  terrible  news, 
I quickly  resolved  that  as  Death  would  probably  soon  sepa- 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


65 


rate  us,  and  might  separate  us  at  any  moment,  I would  keep 
as  much  as  possible  near  my  guardian  during  her  life.  She 
may  have  been  tempted  to  keep  me  near  her  by  the  same  con- 
sideration, but  she  was  not  a woman  to  allow  her  feelings  to 
get  the  better  of  her  sense  of  duty,  and  if  I had  not  persist- 
ently done  all  in  my  power  to  remain  at  Burnley,  she  would 
have  sent  me  elsewhere.  Some  reviewer  will  say  that  these 
are  trifling  matters,  but  in  writing  a biography  it  is  necessary 
to  take  note  of  trifles  when  they  affect  the  whole  future  exist- 
ence of  the  subject.  The  simple  fact  of  my  remaining  at 
Burnley  for  some  years  made  me  turn  out  an  indifferent  classi- 
cal scholar,  but  at  the  time  left  my  mind  more  at  liberty  to 
grow  in  its  own  way. 

It  is  time  to  give  some  account  of  Dr.  Butler,  the  head- 
master of  Burnley  Grammar  School,  who  now  became  my 
master,  and  some  time  afterwards  my  private  tutor.  He  was 
a most  liberal-minded,  kind-hearted  clergyman,  and  a good 
scholar,  but  his  too  great  tenderness  of  heart  made  him  not 
exactly  the  kind  of  master  who  would  have  pushed  me  on 
most  rapidly. 

I had  a great  affection  for  him,  which  he  could  not  help 
perceiving,  and  this  completely  disarmed  him,  so  that  he 
never  could  find  in  his  heart  to  say  anything  disagreeable  to 
me,  and  on  the  contrary  would  often  caress  me,  as  it  were, 
with  little  compliments  that  I did  not  always  deserve.  One 
tendency  of  his  exactly  fell  in  with  my  own  tastes.  He  did 
not  think  that  education  should  he  confined  to  the  two  dead 
languages,  but  incited  the  boys  to  learn  French  and  German, 
and  even  chemistry.  I worked  at  French  regularly ; German 
I learned  just  enough  to  read  one  thin  volume,  and  went  no 
further.1 * * * 5  As  for  the  chemistry,  I acquired  some  elementary 
knowledge  which  afterwards  had  some  influence  in  directing 
my  attention  to  etching ; indeed,  I etched  my  first  plate  when 

1 I resumed  German  many  years  afterwards,  and  had  a Bavarian  for 

my  master;  but  he  was  unfortunately  obliged  to  go  back  to  his  own 

country,  and  I stopped  again,  having  many  other  things  to  do.  All  my 
literary  friends  who  know  German  say  it  is  of  great  use  to  them ; but  I 

never  felt  the  natural  taste  for  it  that  I have  for  French  and  Italian. 

5 


66 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


a boy  at  Burnley  School.  It  was  a portrait  of  a Jew  with  a 
turban , and  was  frightfully  over-bitten. 

Mr.  Butler  (he  had  not  received  his  D.C.L.  degree  in  those 
days)  was  a very  handsome  man,  with  most  gentlemanly  man- 
ners, and  all  the  boys  respected  him.  He  governed  the  school 
far  more  by  his  own  dignity  than  by  any  severity  of  tone. 
He  always  wore  his  gown  in  school,  and  had  a desk  made  for 
himself  which  rather  resembled  a pulpit  and  was  ornamented 
with  two  carved  crockets,  that  of  the  assistant-master  (who 
also  wore  his  gown)  being  destitute  of  these  ornaments.  My 
progress  in  classics  and  mathematics  was  now  not  nearly  so 
rapid  as  it  had  been  under  the  severer  regime  at  Doncaster, 
but  Mr.  Butler  thought  he  discovered  in  me  some  sort  of 
literary  gift,  and  encouraged  me  to  write  English  essays, 
which  he  corrected  carefully  to  show  me  my  faults  of  style. 
This  was  really  good,  as  Mr.  Butler  wrote  English  well  him- 
self, and  was  a man  of  cultivated  taste.  He  even  encouraged 
me  to  write  verses,  — a practice  that  I followed  almost  without 
intermission  between  the  ages  of  twelve  and  twenty-one.  I 
am  aware  that  there  are  many  very  wise  people  in  the  world 
who  think  it  quite  rational,  and  laudable  even,  to  write  verses 
in  the  Latin  language  to  improve  their  knowledge  of  that 
tongue,  and  who  think  it  is  a ridiculous  waste  of  time  to  do 
the  same  thing  in  English.  In  my  opinion,  what  holds  good 
for  one  language  holds  good  equally  for  another,  and  I no 
more  regret  the  time  spent  on  English  versification  than  a 
Latin  scholar  would  regret  his  imitations  of  Virgil.  Perhaps 
the  reader  may  like  to  see  a specimen  of  my  boyish  attempts, 
so  I will  print  an  extract  from  one,  — a poem  that  won  a prize 
at  Burnley  School  in  the  year  1847. 

The  subject  given  us  was  “ Prince  Charles  Edward  after  the 
Battle  of  Culloden.”  The  poem  begins  with  a wild  galloping 
flight  of  the  Prince  from  the  battlefield  of  Culloden  under  the 
pale  moonlight,  and  then  of  course  we  come  to  the  boat  voyage 
with  Flora  Macdonald.  Here  my  love  of  boating  comes  in. 

The  lovely  lamp  of  Heaven  shines  brightly  o’er 

The  wave  cerulean  and  the  yellow  shore ; 

As,  o’er  those  waves,  a boat  like  light’ning  flies, 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


67 


Slender,  and  frail  in  form,  and  small  in  size. 

— Frail  though  it  be,  ’t  is  manned  by  hearts  as  brave 
As  e’er  have  tracked  the  pathless  ocean’s  wave,  — 

High  o’er  their  heads  celestial  diamonds  grace 
The  jewelled  robe  of  night,  and  Luna’s  face 
Divinely  fair ! O goddess  of  the  night ! 

Guide  thou  their  bark,  do  thou  their  pathway  light ! 

— Like  searbird  rising  on  the  ocean’s  foam, 

Or  like  the  petrel  on  its  stormy  home, 

Yon  gallant  bark  speeds  joyously  along; 

The  wild  waves  roar,  and  drown  the  boatmen’s  song. 

The  sails  full-flowing  kiss  the  welcome  wind, 

And  leave  the  screaming  sea-gulls  far  behind ! 

Onward  they  fly.  ’T  is  midnight’s  moonlit  hour ! 

When  Fairies  hold  their  court  and  Sprites  have  power. 

And  now ’t  is  morn  ! A fair  Isle’s  distant  strand 
Tempts  the  tired  fugitives  again  to  land. 

Fiercely  repulsed,  they  dare  once  more  the  wave 
Fired  with  undying  zeal  their  Prince  to  save ; 

And  when  night  flings  her  sable  mantle  o’er 
The  giant  crags  where  sea-hawks  idly  soar, 

They  unmolested  gain  the  wished-for  land, 

And  soon  with  rapid  steps  bestride  the  strand. 

To  Kingsburgh’s  noble  halls  the  path  they  gain 
And  leave  afar  the  ever-murmuring  main.1 

Very  likely  this  extract  will  be  as  much  as  the  reader  will 
have  patience  for.  I think  the  verses  are  tolerably  good  for  a 
boy  not  yet  thirteen  years  old.  The  versification  is,  perhaps, 
as  correct  as  that  of  most  prize  poems,  and  there  is  some  go 
in  the  poetry.  It  cannot,  however,  lay  claim  to  much  origi- 
nality. Even  in  the  short  extract  just  given  I see  the  influ- 
ence of  three  poets,  Virgil,  Scott,  and  Byron.  The  best  that 
can  he  expected  from  the  poetry  of  a boy  is  that  he  should 
give  evidence  of  a liking  for  the  great  masters,  and  in  my  case 
the  liking  was  sincere. 

In  later  years  Mr.  Butler  made  me  translate  many  of  the 
Odes  of  Horace  into  English  verse.  I did  that  work  with 
pleasure,  but  have  not  preserved  one  of  the  translations.  I 
have  said  that  he  also  encouraged  me  to  write  essays.  He 

1 In  the  printed  copies  of  the  poem,  the  age  of  the  writer  was  given 
as  thirteen,  but  I was  only  in  my  thirteenth  year. 


68 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


always  gave  the  subject,  and  criticized  my  performance  very 
closely.  I wrote  so  many  of  these  essays  that  I am  afraid 
to  give  the  number  that  remains  in  my  memory,  for  fear  of 
unconscious  exaggeration. 

Besides  these  exercises  we  had  public  discussions  in  the 
school  on  historical  subjects,  and  of  these  I remember  a 
great  one  on  the  character  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  I was  chosen 
for  the  defence,  and  the  attack  on  Elizabeth’s  fame  was  to  be 
made  by  the  Captain  of  the  school,  a lad  of  remarkable 
ability  named  Edward  Moore,  who  was  greatly  my  superior 
in  acquirements. 

It  happened,  I remember,  that  my  guardian  was  staying  at 
a country  house  (the  Holme),  which  had  formerly  belonged 
to  Dr.  Whitaker,  the  celebrated  historian  of  Craven,  Whalley, 
and  Bichmondshire,  and  this  learned  man  had  left  a good 
library,  so  I went  to  stay  a few  days  to  read  up  the  subject. 
Those  days  were  very  pleasant  to  me;  the  house  is  very 
beautiful,  with  carved  oak,  tapestry,  mullioned  windows, 
old  portraits,  and  stained  glass,  and  just  the  old-world 
surroundings  that  I have  always  loved,  and  it  nestled 
quietly  in  an  open  space  in  the  bottom  of  a beautiful  valley, 
between  steep  hills,  with  miles  of  walks  in  the  woods.  If 
ever  I have  been  in  danger  of  coveting  my  neighbor’s  house, 
it  has  been  there. 

When  we  came  to  the  debate,  it  turned  out  that  my  mate- 
rials were  so  abundant  that  I spoke  for  an  hour  and  a half; 
Moore  spoke  about  forty  minutes,  and  made  a most  telling 
personal  hit  when  attacking  Elizabeth  for  her  vanity.  “ She 
was  vain  of  her  complexion,  vain  even  of  her  hair  ”...  (here 
the  orator  paused  and  looked  at  me,  then  he  added,  slowly 
and  significantly),  “which  was  red”  The  point  here  was, 
that  my  hair  was  red  in  those  days,  though  it  has  darkened 
since.  I need  not  add  that  the  allusion  was  understood  at 
once  by  the  whole  school,  and  was  immensely  successful. 

After  we  had  spoken,  a youth  rose  to  give  his  opinion , and 
as  his  speech  was  sufficiently  laconic,  I will  repeat  it  in 
extenso.  The  effect  would  be  quite  spoiled  if  I did  not  add 
that  he  was  suffering  from  a very  bad  cold,  which  played  sad 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


69 


havoc  with  his  consonants.  This  was  his  speech,  without  the 
slightest  curtailment:  — 

“Id  by  opidiod  Queed  Elizabeth  was  to  be  blabed,  because 
she  was  a proud  wobad.” 

My  opponent  in  the  debate  on  Elizabeth  was,  I believe,  all 
things  taken  into  consideration,  the  most  gifted  youth  I ever 
knew  during  my  boyhood.  He  kept  at  the  head  of  the  school 
without  effort,  as  if  the  post  belonged  to  him,  and  he  was  re- 
markable for  bodily  activity,  being  the  best  swimmer  in  the 
school,  and,  I think,  the  best  cricketer  also.  He  afterwards 
died  prematurely,  and  his  brother  died  in  early  manhood  from 
exhausting  fatigue  during  an  excursion  in  the  Alps. 

The  school  was  in  those  days  attended  by  lads  belonging 
to  all  classes  of  society,  except  the  highest  aristocracy  of  the 
neighborhood,  and  it  did  a good  deal  towards  keeping  up  a 
friendly  feeling  between  different  classes.  That  is  the  great 
use  of  a good  local  school.  Many  of  the  boys  were  the  sons 
of  rich  men,  who  could  easily  have  sent  them  to  public  schools 
at  a distance,  and  perhaps  in  the  present  generation  they 
would  do  so. 


70 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

1850. 

My  elder  uncle.  — We  go  to  live  at  Hollins.  — Description  of  the  place. — 
My  strong  attachment  to  it.  — My  first  experiment  in  art-criticism.  — 
The  stream  at  Hollins.  — My  first  catamaran.  — Similarity  of  my  life 
at  Hollins  to  my  life  in  France  thirty-six  years  later. 

My  elder  uncle,  the  owner  of  my  grandfather’s  house  and 
estate  at  Hollins,  had  been  educated  to  the  law,  as  the  income 
of  our  branch  of  the  family  was  insufficient,  and  he  had  begun 
to  practise  as  a solicitor  in  Burnley,  where  at  that  time  there 
was  an  excellent  opening;  but  he  had  not  the  kind  of  tact 
which  enables  lawyers  to  get  on  in  the  world,  so  his  profes- 
sional income  diminished,  and  he  went  to  live  in  Halifax, 
and  let  the  house  at  Hollins. 

His  family  was  large,  and  for  some  years  he  did  all  in  his 
power  to  live  according  to  his  rank  in  society,  for  he  had 
married  a lady  of  good  family  (they  had  thirty-six  quarterings 
between  them),  and,  like  most  men  in  a similar  position,  he 
was  unwilling  to  adopt  the  only  safe  plan,  which  is  to  take 
boldly  a lower  place  on  the  ladder.  At  Halifax  he  lived  in 
a large  house  (Hopwood  Hall),  which  belonged  to  his  father- 
in-law,  and  there  his  wife  and  he  received  the  Halifax  society 
of  those  days,  at  what,  I believe,  were  very  pleasant  enter- 
tainments, for  they  had  the  natural  gift  of  hospitality,  and 
lacked  nothing  but  a large  fortune  to  be  perfect  in  the  eyes  of 
the  world. 

My  uncle’s  father-in-law  was  living  in  retirement  at  Scar- 
borough when  Hollins  happened  to  fall  vacant,  so  he  became 
the  tenant;  but  as  the  house  was  too  large  for  him,  my  uncle 
divided  it  into  two,  and  proposed  to  let  the  other  half  to  my 
guardian  and  her  sister. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


71 


They  accepted,  and  the  consequence  was  that  we  went  to 
live  in  the  country, — a most  important  change  for  me,  as  I 
soon  acquired  that  passion  for  a country  life  which  after- 
wards became  a second  nature,  and  which,  though  it  may 
have  been  beneficial  to  my  health,  and  perhaps  in  some  degree 
to  the  quality  of  my  work,  has  been  in  many  ways  an  all  hut 
fatal  hindrance  to  my  success. 

There  are,  or  were,  a great  many  old  halls  in  Lancashire 
that  belonged  to  the  old  families,  which  have  now  for  the 
most  part  disappeared.  They  were  of  all  sizes,  some  large 
enough  to  accommodate  a wealthy  modern  country  gentleman 
(though  not  arranged  according  to  modern  ideas),  and  others 
of  quite  small  dimensions,  though  generally  interesting  for 
their  architecture,  — much  more  interesting,  indeed,  than  the 
houses  which  have  succeeded  them.  Hollins  was  between  the 
two  extremes,  and  when  in  its  perfection,  must  have  been 
rather  a good  specimen,  with  its  mullioned  windows,  its 
numerous  gables,  and  its  formal  front  garden,  with  a straight 
avenue  beyond.  Unfortunately,  my  grandfather  found  it 
necessary  to  rebuild  the  front,  and  in  doing  so  altered  the 
character  by  introducing  modern  sash  windows  in  the  upper 
story;  and  though  he  retained  mullioned  windows  on  the 
ground  floor,  they  were  not  strictly  of  the  old  type.  My 
uncle  also  carried  out  other  alterations,  external  and  internal, 
which  ended  by  depriving  the  house  of  much  of  its  old  char- 
acter, and  still  more  recent  changes  have  gone  farther  in  the 
same  direction. 

However,  such  as  it  was  in  my  youth,  the  place  inspired 
in  me  one  of  those  intensely  strong  local  attachments  which 
take  root  in  some  natures,  and  in  none,  I really  believe,  more 
powerfully  than  in  mine.  Like  all  strong  passions,  these 
local  attachments  are  extremely  inconvenient,  and  it  would 
be  better  for  a man  to  be  without  them ; but  all  reasoning  on 
such  subjects  is  superfluous. 

Hollins  is  situated  in  the  middle  of  a small  but  very  pretty 
estate,  almost  entirely  bounded  by  a rocky  and  picturesque 
trout-stream,  and  so  pleasantly  varied  by  hill  and  dale,  wood, 
meadow,  and  pasture,  that  it  appears  much  larger  than  it 


72 


A UTOBIOGRAPHY. 


really  is.  In  my  boyhood  it  seemed  an  immensity.  My 
cousins  and  I used  to  roam  about  it  and  play  at  Robin  Hood 
and  his  merry  men  with  great  satisfaction  to  ourselves.  We 
fished  and  bathed  in  one  of  the  pools,  where  our  ships  deliv- 
ered real  broadsides  of  lead  from  their  little  cannons.  These 
boyish  recollections,  and  an  early  passion  for  landscape  beauty, 
made  Hollins  seem  a kind  of  earthly  Paradise  to  me,  and  the 
idea  of  going  to  live  there,  instead  of  in  a row  of  houses  in  a 
manufacturing  town,  filled  me  with  the  most  delightful  antici- 
pations. My  uncle  put  workmen  in  the  house  to  prepare  it, 
and  on  every  opportunity  I walked  there  to  see  what  they 
were  doing.  Even  at  that  age  I knew  much  more  about  arch- 
itecture than  my  elders,  being  perfectly  familiar  with  the 
details  of  the  old  halls,  and  so  I was  constantly  losing  temper 
at  what  seemed  to  me  the  evident  stupidity  of  the  masons. 
There  was  an  old  master-mason,  who  did  not  like  me  and  my 
criticisms,  and  he  swore  at  me  freely  enough,  in  an  explicit 
Lancashire  manner.  One  day,  simply  by  the  eye,  I perceived 
that  he  was  four  inches  out  in  a measurement,  and  told  him 
of  it,  when  he  swore  frightfully.  He  then  took  his  two-foot 
rule,  and  finding  himself  in  the  wrong,  swore  more  fright- 
fully than  ever.  This  was  my  first  experience  in  the  thank- 
less business  of  art-criticism,  and  it  was  the  beginning  of  a 
false  position,  in  which  I often  found  myself  in  youth,  from 
knowing  more  about  some  subjects  than  is  usual  with  boys. 

The  small  estate  on  which  Hollins  is  situated  is  divided 
from  Towneley  Park  by  a road  and  a wall,  and  on  the  opposite 
side  its  boundary,  for  most  of  the  distance,  is  the  rocky  stream 
that  has  been  already  mentioned.  The  stream  had  a great 
influence  on  my  whole  life,  by  giving  me  a taste  for  the  beauty 
of  wild  streams  in  Scotland  and  elsewhere.  It  is  called  the 
Brun,  and  gives  its  name  to  Burnley.  The  rocks  are  a sand- 
stone sufficiently  warm  in  color  to  give  a very  pleasant  con- 
trast to  the  green  foliage,  and  the  forms  of  them  are  so  broken 
that  in  sunshine  there  are  plenty  of  fine  accidental  lights  and 
shadows.  It  was  one  of  my  greatest  pleasures  to  follow  the 
course  of  this  stream,  with  a leaping-pole , up  to  the  moors, 
where  it  flowed  through  a wide  and  desolate  valley  or  hollow 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


73 


in  the  hills.  As  the  aspect  of  a stream  is  continually  chang- 
ing with  the  seasons  and  the  quantity  of  water,  it  is  always 
new.  The  only  regret  I have  about  my  residence  near  the 
Brun  is  that  I did  not  learn  at  the  right  time  to  make  the 
most  of  it  in  the  way  of  artistic  study ; hut  I did  as  much , 
perhaps,  as  was  to  be  expected  from  a hoy  who  was  receiving 
a literary  and  not  an  artistic  education. 

The  defect  of  the  Brun  was  the  absence  of  pools  big  enough 
for  swimming  and  boating,  but  it  gave  a tantalizing  desire  for 
these  pleasures,  and  I was  as  aquatic  as  my  opportunities 
would  allow.  In  June,  1850,  my  first  catamaran  was  launched 
on  a fish-pond.  I built  it  myself,  with  an  outlay  of  one  pound 
for  the  materials.  It  was  composed  of  two  floats  or  tubes, 
consisting  of  a light  framework  of  deal  covered  with  water- 
proofed canvas.  These  were  kept  apart  in  the  water,  but  joined 
above  by  a light  open  framework  that  served  as  a deck,  and 
on  which  the  passengers  sat.  The  thing  would  carry  five 
people,  and  was  propelled  by  short  oars.  Being  extremely 
light,  it  was  easily  drawn  on  a road,  and  was  provided  with 
small  wheels  for  that  purpose.  This  boyish  attempt  would 
not  have  been  mentioned  had  it  not  been  the  first  of  a long 
series  of  practical  experiments  in  the  construction  of  cata- 
marans which  have  continued  down  to  the  date  of  the 
present  writing,  and  of  which  the  reader  will  hear  more  in 
the  sequel.  I promise  to  endeavor  not  to  weary  him  with  the 
subject. 

It  is  astonishing  how  very  far-reaching  in  their  effects  are 
the  tastes  and  habits  that  we  acquire  in  early  life ! The  sort 
of  existence  that  I am  leading  here  at  Pre  Charmoy,  near 
Autun,  in  this  year  1886,  bears  a wonderfully  close  resem- 
blance to  my  existence  at  Hollins  in  1850.  I am  living,  as  I 
was  then,  on  a pretty  estate  with  woods,  meadows,  pastures, 
and  a beautiful  stream,  with  hills  visible  from  it  in  all  direc- 
tions. There  is  a fish-pond  too,  about  a mile  from  the  house, 
and  I am  even  now  trying  catamaran  experiments  on  this  pond, 
as  I did  on  the  other  in  Lancashire.  My  occupations  are  exactly 
the  same,  and  to  complete  the  resemblance  it  so  happens  that 
just  now  I am  reading  Latin.  The  chief  difference  is  that 


74 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY . 


writing  has  become  lucrative  and  professional,  whereas  in 
those  earlier  days  it  was  a study  only. 

It  is  very  difficult  for  me  to  believe  that  thirty-six  years 
separate  me  from  a time  so  like  the  present  in  many  ways  — 
like  and  yet  unlike,  — for  I was  then  in  Lancashire  and  am 
now  in  France;  but  this  is  a fact  that  I only  realize  when  I 
think  about  it.  The  real  exile  for  me  would  he  to  live  in  a 
large  town. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY . 


75 


CHAPTER  XII. 

1850. 

Interest  in  the  Middle  Ages.  — Indifference  to  the  Greeks  and  Romans.  — 
Love  for  Sir  Walter  Scott’s  writings.  — Interest  in  heraldry  and  illu- 
minations.— Passion  for  hawking.  — Old  books  in  the  school  library  at 
Burnley.  — Mr.  Edward  Alexander  of  Halifax.  — Attempts  in  literary 
composition.  — Contributions  to  the  “ Historic  Times.”  — “ Rome  in 
1849.”  — “Observations  on  Heraldry.” 

The  last  chapter  ended  by  saying  that  my  occupations  in 
early  life  were  the  same  as  they  are  at  present,  hut  I now 
remember  one  or  two  points  of  difference.  In  those  days  I 
lived,  mentally,  a great  deal  in  the  Middle  Ages.  This  was 
owing  to  the  influence  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  certainly  of  all 
authors  the  one  who  has  most  influenced  me , and  it  was  also 
due  in  some  measure  to  a romantic  interest  in  the  history  of 
my  own  family,  and  of  the  other  families  in  the  north  of 
England  with  which  mine  had  been  connected  in  the  past. 
Eor  the  Greeks  and  Romans  I cared  very  little ; they  seemed 
too  remote  from  my  own  country  and  race,  and  the  English 
present,  in  which  my  lot  was  cast,  seemed  too  dull  and  un- 
picturesque,  too  prosaic  and  commonplace.  My  imagination 
being  saturated  with  Scott,  I had  naturally  the  same  taste  as 
my  master.  I soon  learned  all  about  heraldry,  and  in  my 
leisure  time  drew  and  colored  all  the  coats  of  arms  that  had 
been  borne  by  the  Hamertons  in  their  numerous  alliances,  as 
well  as  the  arms  of  other  families  from  which  our  own  was 
descended.  I wrote  black-letter  characters  on  parchment  and 
made  pedigrees,  and  became  so  much  of  a mediaevalist  that  there 
was  considerable  risk  of  my  stopping  short  in  the  amateur 
practice  of  such  arts  as  wood-carving,  illumination,  and  paint- 
ing on  glass.  The  same  taste  for  the  Middle  Ages  led  me  to 
imitate  our  forefathers  in  more  active  pursuits;  amongst  others 


76 


A UTOBIOGRAPEY. 


I had  such  a passion  for  hawking  that  at  one  time  I became 
incapable  of  opening  my  lips  about  anything  else.  My  guard- 
ian said  it  was  “hawk,  hawk,  hawking  from  morning  till 
night.”  Not  that  I ever  possessed  a living  falcon  of  any 
species  whatever.  My  uncle  resigned  to  me  a corner  of  the 
outbuildings,  on  the  ground-floor  of  which  was  a loose-box  for 
my  horse,  and  above  it  a room  that  I set  apart  for  the  falcons 
when  they  should  arrive ; but  in  spite  of  many  promises  from 
gamekeepers  and  naturalists  and  others,  no  birds  ever  came! 
The  hoods  and  jesses  were  ready,  very  prettily  adorned  with 
red  morocco  leather  and  gold  thread;  the  mews  were  ready  too, 
with  partitions  in  trellis-work  of  my  own  making,  — every- 
thing was  ready  except  the  peregrines ! 

I knew  the  coats-of-arms  of  all  the  families  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  of  course  that  of  the  Towneleys,  who  had  a chapel 
in  Burnley  Church  for  the  interment  of  their  dead,  adorned 
with  many  hatchments.  Those  hatchments  had  a double 
interest  for  me,  as  heraldry  in  the  first  place,  and  also  because 
the  Towneleys  had  a peregrine  falcon  for  their  crest!  I 
envied  them  that  crest,  and  would  willingly  have  exchanged 
for  it  our  own  “greyhound  couchant,  sable.” 

Burnley  School  possesses  a library  which  is  rich  in  old  tomes 
that  few  people  ever  read.  In  my  youth  these  volumes  were 
kept  in  a room  entirely  surrounded  with  dark  oak  wainscot, 
that  opened  on  the  shelves  where  these  old  books  reposed.  I 
read  some  of  them,  more  or  less,  but  have  totally  forgotten 
them  all  except  a black-letter  Chaucer.  That  volume  delighted 
me,  and  I have  read  in  it  many  an  hour.  It  is  much  to  be 
regretted  that  I had  not  the  same  affectionate  curiosity  about 
the  Greek  and  Latin  classics,  but  it  was  something  to  have  a 
taste  for  the  literature  of  one’s  own  country. 

My  uncle’s  brother-in-law,  Mr.  Edward  Alexander,  of 
Halifax,  was  a lawyer  of  literary  and  antiquarian  tastes,  and 
a great  lover  of  books,  — not  to  read  only,  but  to  have  around 
him  in  a well-ordered  library.  He  was  extremely  kind  to 
me,  and  now,  when  I know  better  how  very  rare  such  kind- 
ness is  in  the  world,  I feel  perhaps  even  more  grateful  for  it 
than  I did  then. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


77 


Mr.  Alexander  was  the  father  of  the  young  Alexander  who 
was  my  school-fellow  at  Doncaster,  and  I am  hardly  exagger- 
ating his  affection  for  me  when  I say  that  he  had  a paternal 
feeling  towards  myself.  He  put  his  library  entirely  at  my 
disposal,  and  gave  me  a room  in  his  house  at  Heath  Field, 
near  Halifax,  whenever  I felt  inclined  to  avail  myself  of  it, 
and  had  liberty  to  go  there. 

His  library  had  cost  him  several  thousand  pounds,  and  was 
rich  in  archaeological  books.  Mrs.  Alexander  was  a charming 
lady,  always  exquisitely  gentle  in  her  way,  and  gifted  with 
a quiet  firmness  which  enabled  her  to  match  very  effectually 
the  somewhat  irascible  disposition  of  my  friend,  who  had  the 
irritability  as  well  as  the  kindness  of  heart  which,  I have 
since  observed,  are  often  found  together  in  Frenchmen.  With 
all  his  goodness  he  was  by  no  means  an  indulgent  judge;  he 
could  not  endure  the  slightest  failure  or  forgetfulness  in  good 
manners,  and  most  of  his  young  relations  were  afraid  of  him. 
I only  offended  him  once,  and  that  but  slightly.  He  was 
walking  in  his  own  garden  with  my  uncle,  when  I had  to 
do  something  that  required  the  use  of  both  hands,  and  I was 
encumbered  with  a book.  I dared  not  lay  the  book  on  the 
ground,  as  I should  have  done  if  it  had  been  my  own,  so  I 
asked  my  uncle  to  hold  it.  I could  see  an  expression  on  Mr. 
Alexander’s  face  which  said  clearly  enough  that  I had  taken  a 
liberty  in  requesting  this  little  service  from  a senior,  and  it 
only  occurred  to  me  as  an  afterthought  that  I might  have  put 
my  hat  on  the  ground  and  laid  the  book  on  the  hat.  This 
little  incident  shows  one  side  of  my  dear  friend’s  nature,  but 
it  was  not  at  all  a bad  thing  for  me  to  be  occasionally  under  the 
influence  of  one  who  was  at  the  same  time  kind  and  severe. 
In  early  life  he  had  been  a dandy,  and  a local  poet  had  called 
him,  — 

“ Elegant  Extracts,  the  Halifax  fop.” 1 

In  his  maturity  all  that  remained  of  early  dandyism  was 
an  intolerance  of  every  kind  of  slovenliness.  He  rigorously 
exacted  order  in  his  library;  I might  use  any  of  his  books, 

1 “ Elegant  Extracts  ” was  the  title  of  a book  of  miscellaneous  reading 


78 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


but  must  put  them  all  back  in  their  places.  Perhaps  my 
present  strong  love  of  order  may  be  due  in  a great  measure  to 
Mr.  Alexander’s  teaching  and  example.  Amongst  the  friends 
of  my  youth  there  are  very  few  whom  I look  back  to  with 
such  grateful  affection. 

Like  most  boys  who  have  become  authors,  I made  attempts 
in  literary  composition  independently  of  those  which  were 
directly  encouraged  by  my  master.  In  this  way  I wrote 
a number  of  articles  that  were  accepted  by  the  “ Historic 
Times,”  a London  illustrated  journal  of  those  days  which 
was  started  under  the  patronage  of  the  Church  of  England, 
but  had  not  a great  success.  My  first  articles  were  on  the 
Universities,  of  which  I knew  nothing  except  by  hearsay,  and 
on  “Civilization,  Ancient  and  Modern,”  which  was  rather 
a vast  subject  for  a boy  whose  reading  had  been  so  limited. 
However,  the  editor  of  the  “ Historic  Times  ” had  not  the 
least  suspicion  of  my  age,  so  I favored  him  with  a long  series 
of  articles  on  Kome  in  1849,  forming  altogether  as  complete 
a history  of  the  city  for  that  year  as  could  have  been  written 
by  one  who  had  never  seen  it,  who  did  not  know  Italian,  and 
who  had  not  access  to  any  other  sources  of  information  than 
those  which  are  accessible  to  everybody  in  the  newspapers. 

Under  these  circumstances,  it  may  seem  absurd  to  have 
undertaken  such  a task,  but  the  reader  may  be  reminded  that 
learned  historians  undertake  to  tell  us  what  happened  long 
ago  from  much  less  ample  material.  I got  no  money  for  these 

which  had  an  extensive  sale  in  those  days.  The  couplet  related  to  a 
public  hall, — 

“ Elegant  Extracts,  the  Halifax  fop, 

With  note-hook  in  hand,  took  coach  for  the  hop.” 

Mr.  Alexander  sometimes  alluded  in  a pleasant  way  to  his  early  foppish- 
ness, and  told  some  amusing  anedotes,  one  of  which  I remember.  He  and 
a young  friend  having  adopted  some  startling  new  fashion  before  anybody 
else  in  Halifax,  were  going  to  church  very  proud  of  themselves,  when  they 
heard  a girl  laughing  at  them,  on  which  her  companion  rebuked  her,  say- 
ing, “ You  should  n’t  laugh ; you  might  be  struck  so ! ” She  thought  the 
dandies  were  two  misshapen  idiots. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


79 


articles  (there  were  twelve  of  them),  and  no  publisher  would 
reprint  them  because  there  was  no  personal  observation  in 
them  which  publishers  always  expect  in  a narrative  of  con- 
temporary events.  The  work  had,  however,  been  a good 
exercise  for  me  in  the  digesting  and  setting  in  literary  order 
of  a mass  of  confused  material. 

My  passion  for  heraldry  and  hawking  led  to  the  production 
of  a little  book  on  heraldry  which  was  an  imitation  of  Sir 
John  Sebright’s  “Observations  on  Hawking,”  a treatise  that 
seemed  to  me  simple,  and  clearly  arranged. 

My  little  hook  had  no  literary  value,  and  the  publisher 
said  that  only  thirty -nine  copies  were  sold;  however,  on 
being  asked  to  produce  the  remainder  of  the  edition,  he  said 
he  was  unable  to  do  so,  as  the  copies  had  been  u mislaid.” 
The  printing  and  binding  having  been  done  at  my  expense,  I 
compelled  the  publisher  to  reprint  the  book,  but  this  brought 
me  no  pecuniary  benefit,  as  the  demand,  such  as  it  was,  had 
been  satisfied  by  the  first  edition. 

To  this  day  I do  not  feel  certain  in  my  own  mind  whether 
the  publisher  was  dishonest  or  not.  It  would  he  quite  nat- 
ural that  a hook  on  heraldry  should  have  a very  small  sale, 
but  on  the  other  hand  it  is  inconceivable  that  more  than  four 
hundred  copies  of  a book  should  have  been  simply  lost.1 

It  was  a very  good  thing  for  me  that  the  printing  of  this 
treatise  on  heraldry  was  a cause  of  loss  and  disappointment, 
for  if  it  had  been  successful  I might  easily  have  wasted  my 
life  in  archaeology , and  corrected  pedigrees  — those  long  lists 
of  dead  people  of  whom  nobody  knows  anything  hut  their 
names,  and  the  estates  they  were  lucky  enough  to  possess. 

The  reader  will  see  that  up  to  this  point  my  tastes  had  been 
conservative  and  aristocratic.  Then  there  came  a revolution 
which  was  the  most  important  intellectual  crisis  of  my  life, 
and  which  deserves  a chapter  to  itself. 

1 There  is  a third  possibility : the  sale  may  have  been  exactly  what  the 
publisher  stated;  but  he  may  have  had  no  belief  in  the  success  of  the 
work,  and  have  printed  only  one  hundred  copies  whilst  charging  me  for 
five  hundred. 


80 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

1850. 

Political  and  religious  opinions  of  my  relations.  — The  Rev.  James  Bards- 
ley.  — Protestant  controversy  with  Rome.  — German  neology.  — The 
inspiration  of  the  Scriptures.  — Inquiry  into  foundation  for  the  doc- 
trine. — I cease  to  he  a Protestant.  — An  alternative  presents  itself.  — 
A provisional  condition  of  prolonged  inquiry.  — Our  medical  adviser.  — 
His  remarkable  character.  — His  opinions. 

All  my  relations  were  Tories  of  the  most  strongly  Conserva- 
tive type,  and  earnestly  believing  members  of  the  Church  of 
England,  more  inclined  to  the  Evangelical  than  to  the  High 
Church  party.  In  my  early  youth  I naturally  took  the  reli- 
gion and  political  color  of  the  people  about  me. 

There  was  at  Burnley  in  those  days  a curate  who  has  since 
become  a well-known  clergyman  in  Manchester,  Mr.  James 
Bardsley.  He  was  a man  of  very  strong  convictions  of  an 
extreme  Evangelical  kind,  and  nature  had  endowed  him  with 
all  the  gifts  of  eloquence  necessary  to  propagate  his  opinions 
from  the  pulpit.1  He  was  really  eloquent,  and  he  possessed 
in  a singular  degree  the  wonderful  power  of  enchaining  the 
attention  of  his  audience.  We  always  listened  with  interest 
to  what  Mr.  Bardsley  was  saying  at  the  moment,  and  with  the 
feeling  of  awakened  anticipation,  as  he  invariably  conveyed 
the  impression  that  something  still  more  interesting  was  to 
follow.  His  power  as  a preacher  was  so  great  that  his  longest 
sermons  were  not  felt  to  be  an  infliction;  one  might  feel  tired 
after  they  were  over,  but  not  during  their  delivery.  His 
power  was  best  displayed  in  attack,  and  he  was  very  aggres- 
sive, especially  against  the  doctrines  of  the  Church  of  Rome, 
which  he  declared  to  be  " one  huge  Lie.” 

Of  course  a boy  of  my  age  believed  his  own  religion  to  be 
absolutely  true,  and  others  to  be  false  in  exact  proportion  to 


1 Since  then  he  has  become  Canon  and  Archdeacon. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


81 


their  divergence  from  it,  as  this  is  the  way  with  young  people 
when  they  really  believe.  It  was  my  habit  to  take  an 
intensely  strong  interest  in  anything  that  interested  me  at  all, 
. and  as  religion  had  a supreme  interest  for  me  I read  all  about 
the  Protestant  controversy  with  Rome  under  Mr.  Bardsley’s 
guidance,  in  books  of  controversial  theology  recommended  by 
him.  My  guardian,  with  her  usual  good  sense,  did  not  quite 
approve  of  this  controversial  spirit;  she  was  content  to  be 
a good  Christian  in  her  own  way  and  let  the  poor  Roman 
Catholics  alone,  but  I was  too  ardent  in  what  seemed  to  me 
the  cause  of  truth  to  see  with  indifference  the  menacing 
revival  of  Romanism. 

A large  new  Roman  Catholic  church  was  erected  in  Bum- 
ley,  and  opened  with  an  imposing  ceremony.  There  was  at 
that  time  a belief  that  the  power  of  the  Pope  might  one  day 
he  re-established  in  our  country,  and  the  great  results  of  the 
Reformation  either  wholly  sacrificed  or  placed  in  the  greatest 
jeopardy.  Protestants  were  called  upon  to  defend  these  con- 
quests, and  in  order  to  qualify  themselves  for  this  great  duty  it 
was  necessary  that  they  should  make  themselves  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  the  great  controversy  between  the  pure  Church 
to  which  it  was  their  own  happiness  to  belong,  and  that  cor- 
rupt association  which  called  itself  Catholicism.  I had  rather 
a bold  and  combative  disposition,  and  was  by  no  means  unwill- 
ing to  take  a share  in  the  battle. 

All  went  well  for  a time.  The  spirit  of  inquiry  is  not 
considered  an  evil  spirit  so  long  as  it  only  leads  to  agreement 
with  established  doctrines,  and  as  an  advanced  form  of  Protes- 
tantism was  preached  in  Burnley  Church,  I was  at  liberty  to 
think  boldly  enough,  provided  I did  not  go  beyond  that  par- 
ticular stage  of  thought.  Not  having  as  yet  any  disposition 
to  go  beyond,  I did  not  at  all  realize  what  a very  small 
degree  of  intellectual  liberty  my  teachers  were  really  disposed 
to  allow  me. 

One  occasion  I remember  distinctly.  Mr.  Bardsley  was  at 
Hollins,  where  he  spent  the  evening  with  us,  and  in  the 
course  of  conversation,  as  he  was  leaning  on  the  chimney- 
piece,  he  spoke  about  German  Neology,  which  I had  never 

6 


82 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


heard  of  before,  so  I asked  what  it  was,  and  he  described  it 
as  a dreadful  doctrine  which  attributed  no  more  inspiration 
to  sacred  than  to  profane  writers.  The  ladies  were  shocked 
and  scandalized  by  the  bare  mention  of  such  a doctrine,  but 
the  effect  on  me  was  very  different.  The  next  day,  in  my 
private  meditations,  I began  to  wonder  what  were  the  evi- 
dences by  which  it  was  determined  that  some  writers  were 
inspired  and  infallible,  and  what  critics  had  settled  the  ques- 
tion. The  orthodox  reader  will  say  that  in  a perplexity  of 
this  kind  I had  nothing  to  do  but  carry  my  difficulty  to  a 
clergyman.  This  is  exactly  what  I did,  and  the  clergyman 
was  Mr.  Bardsley  himself. 

He  was  full  of  kindness  to  me,  and  took  the  trouble  to 
write  a long  paper  on  the  subject,  which  must  have  cost  him 
fully  two  days’  work, — a paper  in  which  he  gave  a full  account 
of  the  Canon  of  Scripture  from  the  Evangelical  point  of 
view.  The  effect  on  me  was  most  discouraging,  for  the  result 
amounted  merely  to  this,  that  certain  Councils  of  the  Church 
had  recognized  the  Divine  inspiration  of  certain  books,  just 
as  certain  authoritative  critics  might  recognize  the  profane 
inspiration  of  poets.  After  reading  the  paper  with  the  utmost 
care  I felt  so  embarrassed  about  it  that  (with  the  awkward- 
ness of  youth)  I did  not  even  write  to  thank  the  amiable 
author  who  had  taken  so  much  trouble  to  help  me,  and  I only 
thanked  him  briefly  on  meeting  him  at  a friend’s  house, 
where  it  was  impossible  to  avoid  the  interchange  of  a few 
words. 

This  autobiography  is  not  intended  to  be  a book  of  con- 
troversy, so  I shall  carefully  avoid  the  details  of  religious 
changes  and  give  only  results.  I do  not  think  that  any- 
thing in  my  life  was  ever  more  decisive  than  the  receipt  of 
that  long  communication  from  Mr.  Bardsley.  The  day  before 
receiving  it  I was  in  doubt,  but  the  day  after  I felt  perfectly 
satisfied  that  the  Divine  inspiration  of  the  books  known  to 
Englishmen  as  the  “ Scriptures  ” rested  simply  on  the  opinion 
of  different  bodies  of  theologians  who  had  held  meetings 
which  were  called  Councils.  The  only  difference  between 
these  Councils  and  those  of  the  Church  of  Borne  was,  that 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


83 


these  were  represented  as  having  taken  place  earlier,  before 
the  Church  was  so  much  divided;  but  it  did  not  seem  at  all 
evident  that  the  members  of  the  earlier  Councils  were  men  of 
a higher  stamp,  intellectually,  than  those  who  composed  the 
distinctly  Roman  Catholic  Councils,  nor  was  there  any  evi- 
dence that  the  Holy  Spirit  had  been  with  those  earlier  Coun- 
cils, though  it  afterwards  withdrew  itself  from  the  later. 

The  Protestant  reader  will  perhaps  kindly  bear  with  me 
whilst  I give  the  reasons  why  I ceased  to  be  a Protestant, 
after  having  been  so  earnest  and  zealous  in  that  form  of  the 
Christian  faith.  It  appeared  to  me  — I do  not  say  it  is,  but  it 
appeared  to  me,  and  appears  to  me  still  — that  Protestantism 
is  an  uncritical  belief  in  the  decisions  of  the  Church  down 
to  a date  which  I do  not  pretend  to  fix  exactly,  and  an  equally 
uncritical  scepticism,  a scepticism  of  the  most  unreceptive 
kind,  with  regard  to  all  opinions  professed  and  all  events  said 
to  have  taken  place  in  the  more  recent  centuries  of  ecclesi- 
astical history.  The  Church  of  Rome,  on  the  other  hand, 
seemed  nearer  in  temper  to  the  temper  of  the  past,  and  was 
more  decidedly  a continuation,  though  evidently  at  the  same 
time  an  amplification,  of  the  early  Christian  habits  of  think- 
ing and  believing. 

With  this  altered  view  of  the  subject  the  alternative  that 
presented  itself  to  me  was  that  which  presented  itself  to  the 
brothers  Newman,  and  if  I had  found  it  necessary  to  my 
happiness  to  belong  to  a visible  Church  of  some  kind,  and 
if  devotional  feelings  had  been  stronger  than  the  desire  for 
mental  independence,  I should  have  joined  the  Church  of 
Rome. 

There  were,  indeed,  two  or  three  strong  temptations  to  that 
course.  My  family  had  been  a Catholic  family  in  the  past, 
and  had  sacrificed  much  for  the  Church  of  Rome  when  she 
was  laboring  under  oppression;  for  a Hamerton  to  return  to 
her  would  therefore  have  been  quite  in  accordance  with  those 
romantic  sentiments  about  distant  ancestors  which  were  at 
that  time  very  strong  in  me.  Besides  this,  I had  all  the  feel- 
ing for  the  august  ceremonial  of  the  Catholic  Church  which 
is  found  in  the  writer  who  most  influenced  me,  Sir  Walter 


84 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


Scott;  and  there  was  already  a certain  consciousness  of  artistic 
necessities  and  congruities  which  made  me  dimly  aware  that 
if  you  admit  the  glories  of  ecclesiastical  architecture,  it  is 
only  the  asceticism  of  Puritan  rebellion  against  art  that  can 
deny  magnificence  to  ritual.  I had  occasionally,  though 
rarely,  been  present  at  High  Mass,  and  had  felt  a certain 
elevating  influence,  and  if  I had  said  to  myself,  “ Religion 
is  only  a poem  by  which  the  soul  is  raised  to  the  contempla- 
tion of  the  Eternal  Mysteries,”  then  I could  have  dreamed 
vaguely  in  this  contemplation  better,  perhaps,  in  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church  than  in  any  other.  But  my  English  and 
Protestant  education  was  against  a religion  of  dreaming.  An 
English  Protestant  may  have  his  poetical  side,  may  be  capa- 
ble of  feeling  poetry  that  is  frankly  avowed  to  be  such  — may 
read  Tennyson’s  “ Eve  of  St.  Agnes  ” or  Scott’s  “ Hymn  to 
the  Virgin  ” with  almost  complete  imaginative  sympathy; 
but  he  expects  to  believe  his  religion  as  firmly  as  he  believes 
in  the  existence  of  the  British  Islands.  Such,  at  least,  was 
the  matter-of-fact  temper  that  belonged  to  Protestantism  in 
those  days.  In  more  recent  times  a more  hazy  religion  has 
become  fashionable. 

My  decision,  therefore,  for  some  time  was  to  remain  in  a 
provisional  condition  of  prolonged  inquiry.  I read  a great 
deal  on  both  sides,  and  constantly  prayed  for  light,  following 
regularly  the  external  services  of  the  Church  of  England. 
Here  the  subject  may  be  left  for  the  present. 

The  reader  is  to  imagine  me  as  a youth  who  no  longer 
believed  in  the  special  inspiration  of  the  Scriptures,  or  in 
their  infallibility,  but  who  was  still  a Christian  as  thousands 
of  “ liberal  ” Church  people  in  the  present  day  are  Christians. 

Before  resuming  my  religious  history,  I ought  to  mention 
an  influence  which  was  supposed  by  my  friends  to  have  been 
powerful  over  me,  but  which  in  reality  had  slightly  affected 
the  current  of  my  thinking.  Our  medical  adviser  was  a 
surgeon  rather  advanced  in  years,  and  whose  private  fortune 
made  him  independent  of  professional  success.  As  time  went 
on,  he  allowed  himself  to  be  more  and  more  replaced  by  his 
assistant,  Mr.  Uttley,  one  of  the  most  remarkable  characters 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


85 


I ever  met  with.  In  those  days,  in  a northern  provincial 
town,  it  required  immense  courage  to  avow  religious  hetero- 
doxy of  any  advanced  kind,  yet  Mr.  Uttley  said  with  the 
utmost  simplicity  that  he  was  an  atheist,  and  the  religious 
world  called  him  “ Uttley  the  Atheist,”  a title  which  he 
accepted  as  naturally  as  if  it  implied  no  contempt  or  antago- 
nism whatever.  He  was  by  no  means  devoid  of  physical 
courage  also,  for  I remember  that  at  one  time  he  rode  an  ugly 
brute  that  had  a most  dangerous  habit  of  bolting,  and  he 
would  not  permit  me  to  mount  her.  He  was  excessively 
temperate  in  his  habits,  never  drinking  anything  stronger 
than  water,  except,  perhaps,  a cup  of  tea  (I  am  not  sure  about 
the  tea),  and  never  eating  more  than  he  believed  to  be  nec- 
essary to  health.  He  maintained  the  doctrine  that  hunger 
remains  for  a time  after  the  stomach  has  had  enough,  and  that 
if  you  go  on  eating  to  satiety  you  are  intemperate.  He  dis- 
liked, and  I believe  despised,  the  habit  of  stuffing  on  festive 
occasions,  which  used  to  be  common  in  the  wealthier  middle 
classes.  I confess  that  Mr.  Uttley’ s fearless  honesty  and 
steady  abstemiousness  impressed  me  with  the  admiration  that 
one  cannot  but  feel  for  the  great  virtues,  by  whomsoever  prac- 
tised; but  Mr.  Uttley  had  a third  virtue,  which  is  so  rare  in 
England  as  to  be  almost  unintelligible  to  the  majority,  — he 
looked  with  the  most  serene  indifference  on  social  struggles, 
on  the  arts  by  which  people  rise  in  the  world.  Perfectly  con- 
tented with  his  own  station  in  life,  and  a man  of  remarkably 
few  wants,  he  lived  on  from  year  to  year  without  ambition, 
finding  his  chief  interest  in  the  pursuit  of  his  profession,  and 
his  greatest  pleasure  in  his  books.  He  so  little  attempted  to 
make  a proselyte  of  me  that,  when  at  a later  period  I told 
him  of  a certain  change  of  views,  concerning  which  more 
will  be  said  in  the  sequel,  he  was  unaffectedly  surprised  by 
it,  and  said  that  he  had  never  supposed  me  to  be  other  than 
what  I appeared  to  the  world  in  general,  an  ordinary  member 
of  the  Church  of  England.  My  intimate  knowledge  of  Mr. 
Uttley’s  remarkable  character  must  have  had,  nevertheless,  a 
certain  influence  in  this  way,  that  it  enabled  me  to  estimate 
the  vulgar  attacks  on  infidels  at  their  true  worth ; and  though 


86 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


my  own  theistic  beliefs  were  very  strong,  I knew  from  this 
example  that  an  atheist  was  not  necessarily  a monster. 

The  only  occasions  that  I remember  in  youth  when  Mr. 
Uttley  might  have  influenced  me  were  these  two.  Being 
curious  to  know  about  opinions  from  those  who  really  held 
them,  and  being  already  convinced  that  we  cannot  really 
know  them  from  the  misrepresentations  of  their  enemies,  I 
once  asked  Mr.  Uttley  what  atheism  really  was,  and  why  it 
recommended  itself  to  him.  He  replied  that  atheism  was, 
in  his  view,  the  acceptance  of  the  smaller  of  two  difficulties, 
both  of  which  were  still  very  great.  The  smaller  difficulty 
for  him  was  to  believe  in  the  self-existence  of  the  universe; 
the  greater  was  to  believe  in  a single  Being,  without  a begin- 
ning, who  could  create  millions  of  solar  systems;  and  as  one 
or  the  other  must  be  self-existent  the  difficulty  about  self- 
existence was  common  to  both  cases.  The  well-known  argu- 
ment from  design  did  not  convince  him,  as  he  believed  in  a 
continual  process  of  natural  adjustment  of  creatures  to  their 
environment,  — a theory  resembling  that  of  Darwin,  but  not 
yet  so  complete.  I listened  to  Mr.  Uttley’s  account  of  his 
views  with  much  interest;  but  they  had  no  influence  on  my 
own,  as  it  seemed  to  me  much  easier  to  refer  everything  to  an 
intelligent  Creator  than  to  believe  in  the  self-existence  of 
all  the  intricate  organizations  that  we  see.  Still,  I was  not 
indignant,  as  the  reader  may  think  I ought  to  have  been.  It 
seemed  to  me  quite  natural  that  thoughtful  men  should  hold 
different  opinions  on  a subject  of  such  infinite  difficulty. 

The  other  occasion  was,  when  in  the  vigor  of  youthful 
Protestantism  I happened  to  say  something  against  the  Church 
of  Borne.  Mr.  Uttley  very  quietly  and  kindly  told  me  that 
I was  unjust  towards  that  Church,  and  I asked  him  where 
the  injustice  lay.  “It  lies  in  this,”  he  replied,  “that  you 
despise  the  dogmas  of  the  Church  of  Borne  as  resting  only  on 
the  authority  of  priests,  whereas  the  case  of  that  Church  is 
not  exceptional  or  peculiar,  as  all  dogmas  rest  ultimately  on 
the  authority  of  priests.”  To  this  I naturally  answered  that 
Scriptural  authority  was  higher;  but  Mr.  Uttley  answered, 
— “ The  Boman  Catholics  themselves  appeal  to  Scriptural 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


87 


authority  as  the  Protestants  do ; but  it  is  still  the  priests  who 
have  decided  which  hooks  are  sacred,  and  how  they  are  to  be 
interpreted.  ” His  conversation  was  not  longer  than  my  report 
of  it,  and  it  occurred  when  I met  Mr.  Uttley  accidentally  in 
the  street;  but  though  short,  it  was  of  some  importance,  as  I 
happened  at  that  time  to  be  exercised  in  my  mind  about  what 
Mr.  Bardsley  had  told  us  concerning  “ German  Neology.” 
Subsequent  observation  has  led  me  to  believe  that  Mr.  Uttley 
attributed  more  originating  authority  to  priests  than  really 
belongs  to  them.  It  seems  to  me  now  that  they  take  up  and 
consecrate  popular  beliefs  that  may  be  of  use,  and  that  they 
drop  and  discard,  either  tacitly  or  openly,  those  beliefs  which 
are  no  longer  popular.  Both  processes  have  been  going  on 
for  some  years  very  visibly  in  the  Church  of  Borne,  and  the 
second  of  the  two  is  plainly  in  operation  in  the  Church  of 
England. 


88 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


CHAPTEE  XIV. 

1851. 

First  visit  to  London  in  1851.  — My  first  impression  of  the  place.  — Nos- 
talgia of  the  country.  — Westminster.  — The  Royal  Academy. — 
Resolution  never  to  go  to  London  again.  — Reason  why  this  resolution 
was  afterwards  broken. 

In  the  year  1851  I went  to  London  for  the  first  time,  to  see  the 
Great  Exhibition.  Our  little  party  consisted  only  of  my 
guardian,  my  aunt,  and  myself. 

My  first  impression  of  London  was  exactly  what  it  has  ever 
since  remained.  It  seemed  to  me  the  most  disagreeable  place  I 
had  ever  seen,  and  I wondered  how  anybody  could  live  there 
who  was  not  absolutely  compelled  to  do  so.  At  that  time  I 
did  not  understand  the  only  valid  reason  for  living  in  London, 
which  is  the  satisfaction  of  meeting  with  intelligent  people  who 
know  something  about  what  interests  you,  and  do  not  consider 
you  eccentric  because  you  take  an  interest  in  something  that  is 
not  precisely  and  exclusively  money-making. 

My  aunts  knew  nobody  in  London  except  one  or  two  ladies 
of  rank  superior  to  their  own,  on  whom  we  made  formal  calls, 
which  was  a sort  of  human  intercourse  that  I heartily  detested, 
as  I detest  it  to  this  day. 

Our  lodgings  were  in  Baker  Street,  which,  after  our  pure  air, 
open  scenery,  and  complete  liberty  at  Hollins,  seemed  to  me 
like  a prison.  The  lodgings  were  not  particularly  clean  — the 
carpets,  especially,  seemed  as  if  they  had  never  been  taken  up. 
The  air  was  heavy,  the  water  was  bad  (our  water  at  Hollins 
was  clearer  than  glass,  and  if  you  poured  a goblet  of  it  beady 
bubbles  clung  to  the  sides),  there  was  no  view  except  up  street 
and  down  street,  and  the  noise  was  perpetual.  A Londoner 
would  take  these  inconveniences  as  a matter  of  course  and  be 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


89 


insensible  to  them,  but  to  me  they  were  so  unpleasant  that  I 
suffered  from  nostalgia  of  the  country  all  the  time. 

The  reader  may  advantageously  be  spared  my  boyish  im- 
pressions of  the  Great  Exhibition  and  the  other  sights  of 
London.  Of  course  we  fatigued  our  brains,  as  country  people 
always  do,  by  seeing  too  many  things  in  a limited  time;  and  as 
we  had  no  special  purpose  in  view,  we  got,  I fear,  very  little  in- 
struction from  our  wanderings  amidst  the  bewildering  products 
of  human  industry.  I remember  being  profoundly  impressed 
by  Westminster  Abbey,  though  I would  gladly  have  seen  all 
the  modern  monuments  calcined  in  a lime-kiln;  and  West- 
minster Hall  affected  me  even  more,  possibly  because  one  of 
our  ancestors,  Sir  Stephen  Hamerton,  had  been  condemned  to 
death  there  for  high  treason  in  the  time  of  Henry  VIII.  I 
was  also  deeply  impressed  by  the  grim  old  Tower  of  London, 
and  only  regretted  that  I did  not  know  which  cell  the  unlucky 
Sir  Stephen  had  occupied  during  his  hopeless  imprisonment 
there. 

The  rooms  of  the  Royal  Academy  left  a more  durable 
recollection  than  the  contents  of  the  great  building  in  Hyde 
Park.  Those  are  quite  old  times  for  us  now  in  the  history  of 
English  art.  Sir  Frederick  Leighton  was  a young  student  who 
had  not  yet  begun  to  exhibit;  I think  he  was  working  in 
Frankfort  then.  Millais  was  already  known  as  the  painter  of 
strange  and  vivid  pictures  of  small  size,  which  attracted 
attention,  and  put  the  public  into  a state  of  much  embarass- 
ment.  There  were  three  of  these  strange  pictures  that  year, 
— an  illustration  of  Tennyson,  “ She  only  said,  ‘ My  life  is 
dreary,  * ” the  “ Return  of  the  Dove  to  the  Ark,  ” and  the 
“Woodman’s  Daughter.”  I distinctly  remember  the  exact 
sensation  with  which  my  young  eyes  saw  these  works;  so 
distinctly  that  I now  positively  feel  those  early  sensations  over 
again  in  thinking  about  them.  All  was  so  fresh,  so  new! 
This  modern  art  was  such  a novelty  to  one  who  had  not  seen 
many  modern  pictures,  and  my  own  powers  of  enjoying  art 
were  so  entirely  unspoiled  by  the  effect  of  habit  that  I was  like 
a young  bird  in  its  first  spring-time  in  the  woods.  I much 
preferred  the  beautiful  bright  pictures  in  the  Academy,  with 


90 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


their  greens  and  blues  like  Nature,  to  the  snuffy  old  canvases 
(as  they  seemed  to  me)  in  the  National  Gallery. 

The  oddest  result  for  a boy’s  first  visit  to  London  was  a quiet 
mental  resolution  of  which  I said  nothing  to  anybody.  What 
I thought  and  resolved  inwardly  may  be  accurately  expressed 
in  these  words : “ Every  Englishman  who  can  afford  it  ought 
to  see  London  once , as  a patriotic  duty,  and  I am  not  sorry  to 
have  been  there  to  have  got  the  duty  performed;  but  no  power 
on  earth  shall  ever  induce  me  to  go  to  that  supremely  disagree- 
able place  again!  ” 

Of  course  the  intelligent  reader  considers  this  boyish  reso- 
lution impossible  and  absurd,  as  it  is  entirely  contrary  to 
prevalent  ideas ; but  a man  may  lead  a very  complete  life  in 
Lancashire,  and  even  in  counties  less  rich  in  various  interest, 
without  ever  going  to  London  at  all.  A man’s  own  fields 
may  afford  him  as  good  exercise  as  Hyde  Park,  and  his  well- 
chosen  little  library  as  good  reading  as  the  British  Museum. 
It  was  the  Fine  Arts  that  brought  me  to  London  afterwards; 
the  worst  of  the  Fine  Arts  being  that  they  concentrate  them- 
selves so  much  in  great  capitals. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


91 


CHAPTER  XV. 

1851-1852. 

The  love  of  reading  a hindrance  to  classical  studies.  — Dr.  Butler  becomes 
anxious  about  my  success  at  Oxford.  — An  insuperable  obstacle.  — My 
indifference  to  degrees.  — Irksome  hypocrisy.  — I am  nearly  sent  to  a 
tutor  at  Brighton.  — I go  to  a tutor  in  Yorkshire.  — His  disagreeable 
disposition.  — Incident  about  riding.  — Disastrous  effect  of  my  tutor’s 
intellectual  influence  upon  me.  — My  private  reading.  — My  tutor’s 
ignorance  of  modern  authors.  — His  ignorance  of  the  fine  arts.  — His 
religious  intolerance.  — I declare  my  inability  to  sign  the  Thirty-nine 
Articles. 

The  various  mental  activities  hinted  at  in  the  preceding  chap- 
ters had  naturally  a retarding  effect  upon  my  classical  studies, 
which  I had  never  greatly  taken  to.  It  seemed  then,  and  it 
seems  to  me  still,  that  for  one  who  does  not  intend  to  make  a 
living  by  teaching  them,  the  dead  languages,  like  all  other 
pursuits,  are  only  worth  a limited  amount  of  labor.  It  may 
appear  paradoxical  at  first,  but  it  is  true,  that  one  reason  why 
I did  not  like  Latin  and  Greek  was  because  I was  extremely 
fond  of  reading.  The  case  is  this : If  you  are  fond  of  reading 
and  have  an  evening  at  your  disposal,  you  will  wish  to  read, 
will  you  not?  But  construing  is  not  reading;  it  is  quite  a 
different  mental  operation.  When  you  read  you  think  of 
the  scenes  and  events  the  author  narrates,  or  you  follow  his 
reasoning;  but  when  you  construe  you  think  of  cases  and 
tenses,  and  remember  grammatical  rules.  I could  read  Eng- 
lish and  French,  hut  Latin  and  Greek  were  only  to  he  con- 
strued a coujps  de  dictionnaire. 

The  case  may  he  illustrated  by  reference  to  an  amusement. 
A man  who  is  indifferent  to  rowing  cares  very  little  what  sort 
of  boat  he  is  in,  and  toils  contentedly  as  peasants  do  in  their 
heavy  hoots,  but  a lover  of  rowing  wants  a craft  that  he  can 
move.  This  desire  is  quite  independent  of  the  merits  of  the 


92 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


craft  itself,  considered  without  reference  to  the  man.  A sail- 
ing yacht  may  be  a beautiful  vessel,  but  an  Oxford  oarsman 
would  not  desire  to  pull  one  of  her  cumbersome  sweeps. 

I was  at  that  time  a private  pupil  of  Dr.  Butler’s,  and  was 
getting  on  at  such  a very  moderate  pace  that  he  began  to  be 
anxious  about  his  responsibility.  My  guardian  and  he  had 
decided  together  that  I was  to  be  sent  to  Oxford,  and  it  was 
even  settled  to  which  college,  Balliol ; and  my  dear  guardian 
expected  me  to  come  out  in  honors,  and  be  a Fellow  of  my 
college  and  a clergyman.  That  was  her  plan;  and  a very 
good  scheme  of  life  it  was,  but  it  had  one  defect,  that  of 
being  entirely  inapplicable  to  the  human  being  for  whom  it 
was  intended.  I looked  forward  to  Oxford  with  anything  but 
pleasure,  and,  indeed,  considered  that  there  was  an  insuper- 
able obstacle  to  my  going  there.  In  those  days  most  of  the 
good  things  in  life  were  kept  as  much  as  possible  for  members 
of  the  Church  of  England,  and  it  was  necessary  to  sign  the 
Thirty -nine  Articles  on  entering  the  University.  This  I 
could  not  do  conscientiously,  and  would  not  do  against  the 
grain  of  my  conviction.  I looked  upon  this  obstacle  as 
insuperable;  but  if  I had  been  as  indifferent  on  such  ques- 
tions as  young  men  generally  are,  there  would  still  have 
remained  a difficulty  in  my  own  nature,  which  is  a rooted 
dislike  to  everything  which  is  done  for  social  advancement. 
I might  possibly  have  desired  to  be  a scholar,  but  cannot 
imagine  myself  desiring  a degree.  However,  I might  have 
taken  the  trouble  to  get  a degree,  simply  to  please  my  guard- 
ian, if  there  had  not  been  that  obstacle  about  the  Thirty- 
nine  Articles. 

From  this  time,  during  a year  or  two,  there  was  a sort  of 
game  of  cross-purposes  between  me  and  my  guardian,  as  I had 
not  yet  ventured  to  declare  openly  my  severance  from  the 
Church  of  England,  and  my  consequent  inability  to  go  to  one 
of  her  universities.  The  enormous  weight  of  social  and 
family  pressure  that  is  brought  to  bear  on  a youth  with  refer- 
ence to  these  matters  must  be  my  excuse  for  a year  or  two  of 
hypocrisy  that  was  extremely  irksome  to  me ; but  besides  this 
I have  a still  better  excuse  in  a sincere  unwillingness  to  give 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY . 


93 


pain  to  my  dear  guardian,  and  in  the  dread  lest  the  declara- 
tion of  heresy  might  even  be  dangerous  to  one  whom  I knew 
to  he  suffering  from  heart  disease.  I therefore  lived  on  as  a 
young  member  of  the  Church  of  England  who  was  studying 
for  Oxford,  when  in  fact  I considered  myself  no  longer  a 
member  of  that  Church,  and  had  inwardly  renounced  all 
intention  of  going  to  either  of  the  Universities,  which  she 
still  kept  closed  against  the  Dissenters. 

The  inward  determination  not  to  go  to  Oxford  or  Cambridge 
had  a bad  effect  on  my  classical  studies,  as  I had  no  other 
object  in  view  whilst  pursuing  them  than  the  intellectual 
benefit  to  be  derived  from  the  studies  themselves,  and  I had 
not  any  very  great  faith  in  that  benefit.  The  most  intelli- 
gent men  I knew  did  not  happen  to  be  classical  scholars,  and 
some  men  of  my  acquaintance  who  were  classical  scholars 
seemed  to  me  quite  impervious  to  ideas  concerning  science 
and  the  fine  arts.  Even  now,  after  a much  larger  experience, 
I do  not  perceive  that  classical  scholarship  opens  men’s  minds 
to  scientific  and  artistic  ideas,  or  even  that  scholarship  gives 
much  appreciation  of  literary  art  and  excellence.  Still,  it  is 
better  to  have  it  than  to  be  without  it.  There  is  such  a thing 
as  a scholarly  temper,  — a patient,  careful,  exact,  and  studious 
temper,  — which  is  valuable  in  all  the  pursuits  of  life. 

Mr.  Butler  had  been  for  some  time  my  private  tutor  — 
which  means  that  I prepared  my  work  at  Hollins  in  the 
morning,  and  went  to  read  with  Mr.  Butler  in  the  afternoon. 
The  plan  was  pleasant  enough  for  me,  but  it  was  not  advanta- 
geous, because  what  I most  wanted  was  guidance  during  my 
hours  of  study,  — such  guidance  as  I had  at  Doncaster.  How- 
ever, I read  and  wrote  Latin  and  Greek  every  day,  and  learned 
French  at  the  same  time,  as  Mr.  Butler  had  a taste  for  modern 
languages.  This  went  on  until  he  became  rather  alarmed  about 
my  success  at  Oxford  (which  for  reasons  known  to  the  reader 
troubled  me  very  little),  and  told  my  guardian  that  she  ought 
to  send  me  to  some  tutor  who  could  bestow  upon  me  more  con- 
tinuous attention.  I was  as  near  as  possible  to  being  sent  to  a 
tutor  at  Brighton,  — a reverend  gentleman  with  aristocratic 
connections,  — but  he  missed  having  me  by  the  very  bait  which 


94 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


he  held  out  to  attract  my  guardian.  He  boasted  in  a letter  of 
the  young  lords  he  had  educated,  and  said  he  had  one  or  two 
still  in  the  house  with  him.  We  had  a near  neighbor  and  old 
friend  who  was  herself  very  nearly  connected  with  two  of  the 
greatest  families  in  the  peerage,  and  as  she  happened  to  call 
upon  us  when  my  guardian  received  the  letter,  it  was  handed 
to  her,  and  she  said : “ That  bit  about  the  young  lords  is  not  a 
recommendation ; the  chances  are  that  P.  G.  would  find  them 
proud  and  disagreeable.”  As  for  me,  the  whole  project  pre- 
sented nothing  that  was  pleasant.  I disliked  the  south  of 
England,  and  had  not  the  slightest  desire  to  make  the 
acquaintance  of  the  young  noblemen.  It  was  therefore  rather 
a relief  that  the  Brighton  project  was  abandoned. 

It  happened  then  that  my  dear  guardian  did  the  only  one 
foolish  and  wrong  thing  she  ever  did  in  her  whole  life.  She 
sent  me  to  a clergyman  in  Yorkshire,  who  had  been  a tutor  at 
Oxford,  and  was  considered  to  be  a good  “ coach,”  — so  far  he 
may  seem  to  have  been  the  right  man,  — but  he  was  unfortu- 
nately exactly  the  man  to  inspire  me  with  a complete  disgust 
for  my  studies.  He  had  no  consideration  whatever  for  the 
feelings  of  other  people,  least  of  all  for  those  of  a pupil.  He 
treated  me  with  open  contempt,  and  was  always  trying  to 
humiliate  me,  till  at  last  I let  him  understand  that  I would 
endure  it  no  longer.  One  day  he  ordered  me  to  clean  his 
harness,  with  a peremptoriness  that  he  would  scarcely  have 
used  to  a groom,  so  I answered,  “No,  sir,  I shall  not  clean 
your  harness ; that  is  not  my  work.  ” He  then  asked  whether 
I considered  myself  a gentleman.  I said  “yes,”  and  he 
retorted  that  it  would  be  a good  thing  to  thrash  the  gentility 
out  of  me;  on  which  I told  him  that  if  he  ventured  to  attempt 
any  such  thing  I should  certainly  defend  myself.  I was  a 
well-grown  youth,  and  could  have  beaten  my  tutor  easily. 
One  day  he  attempted  to  scrape  my  face  with  a piece  of 
shark’s  skin,  so  I seized  both  his  wrists  and  held  them  for 
some  time,  telling  him  that  the  jest,  if  it  was  a jest,  was  not 
acceptable. 

As  my  tutor  was  very  handsomely  paid  for  the  small  amount 
of  trouble  he  took  with  me,  my  guardian  had  inserted  in  the 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


95 


agreement  a clause  by  which  he  was  either  to  keep  my  horse 
in  his  stable,  or  else  let  me  have  the  use  of  one  of  his  own. 
He  preferred,  for  economy’s  sake,  to  mount  me;  so  in  accord- 
ance with  our  agreement  I innocently  rode  out  a little  in  the 
early  mornings,  long  before  the  hour  fixed  for  our  Greek  read- 
ing together.  As  my  tutor  rose  late,  he  was  not  aware  of  this 
for  some  time;  but  at  length,  by  accident,  he  found  it  out, 
and  then  an  incident  occurred  which  exactly  paints  the  charm- 
ing amenity  of  the  man. 

His  stable-boy  had  brought  the  horse  to  the  gate,  and  I was 
just  mounting  when  my  tutor  opened  his  bedroom  window, 
and  called  out,  “ Take  that  horse  back  to  the  stable  immedi- 
ately! ” I said  to  the  servant,  who  hesitated,  that  it  was  his 
duty  to  obey  his  master’s  orders,  and  dismounted;  then  I 
went  to  my  lodgings  in  the  village,  and  wrote  a note  to  the 
tutor,  in  which  I said  that  I expected  him  to  keep  his  agree- 
ment, and  in  accordance  with  it  I should  ride  out  that  day. 
I then  left  the  note  at  the  house,  saddled  the  animal  myself, 
and  rode  a long  distance.  From  that  time  our  relations  were 
those  of  constrained  formality,  which  on  the  whole  I much 
preferred.  My  tutor  assumed  an  air  of  injured  innocence, 
and  treated  me  with  a clumsy  imitation  of  politeness  which 
was  intended  to  wound  me,  but  which  I found  extremely  con- 
venient, as  the  greater  the  distance  between  us  the  less  inter- 
course there  would  be.  However,  after  that  demonstration  of 
my  rights,  I kept  a horse  of  my  own  — a much  finer  animal  — 
at  a farmer’s. 

The  intellectual  influence  of  my  present  tutor  was  disastrous, 
by  the  reaction  it  produced.  He  was  a fanatical  admirer  of 
the  ancient  authors  who  wrote  in  Latin  and  Greek,  and  was 
constantly  expressing  his  contempt  for  modern  literature,  of 
which  he  was  extremely  ignorant.  I was  fond  of  reading, 
and  had  English  books  in  my  lodgings  which  were  my  refuge 
and  solace  after  the  pedantic  lectures  I had  to  undergo.  My 
love  for  Scott  was  still  very  lively  (as  indeed  it  is  to  this 
day),  but  I had  now  extended  my  horizon  and  added  Byron, 
Shelley,  Tennyson,  and  other  modern  authors  to  my  list. 
My  tutor  had  all  the  hatred  for  Byron  which  distinguished 


96 


A UTOBIO  GRAPHY. 


the  clergy  in  the  poet’s  life-time,  and  he  was  constantly  say- 
ing the  most  unjust  things  against  him;  as,  for  example,  that 
the  “ Bride  of  Abydos  ” was  not  original,  but  was  copied  from 
the  Greek  of  Moschus.  This  clerical  hatred  for  Byron  quite 
prevented  my  tutor  from  acquiring  any  knowledge  of  the 
poet;  but  he  had  seen  a copy  of  his  works  at  my  lodgings, 
and  this  served  as  a text  for  the  most  violent  diatribes.  As 
for  Shelley,  he  knew  no  more  about  him  than  that  he  had  been 
accused  of  atheism.  He  had  heard  of  Moore,  whom  he  called 
“ Tommy.  ” I believe  he  had  never  heard  of  Keats  or  Tenny- 
son; certainly  he  was  quite  unacquainted  with  their  poems. 
He  had  a feeble,  incipient  knowledge  of  French,  and  occa- 
sionally read  a page  of  Moliere,  with  an  unimaginable  pro- 
nunciation ; but  he  knew  nothing  really  of  any  modern 
literature.  On  the  other  hand,  his  knowledge  of  the  Greek 
and  Latin  classics  was  more  intimate  than  that  possessed  by 
any  other  teacher  I had  ever  known.  He  was  a thorough, 
old-fashioned  scholar,  with  all  the  pride  of  exact  erudition, 
and  a corresponding  contempt  for  everybody  who  did  not 
possess  it.  I do  not  at  this  moment  remember  that  he  ever 
referred  to  a dictionary.  I only  remember  that  he  examined 
my  Liddell  and  Scott  to  see  whether  those  modern  lexicog- 
raphers had  done  their  work  in  a way  to  merit  his  approval, 
and  that  he  thought  their  book  might  be  useful  to  me.  He 
had  some  knowledge  of  astronomy,  and  was  building  a reflect- 
ing telescope  which  he  never  completed ; but  I remember  that 
he  was  often  occupied  in  polishing  the  reflectors  whilst  I was 
reading,  and  that  his  hand  went  on  rubbing  with  a bit  of 
soft  leather,  and  a red  powder,  when  he  would  deliver  the 
clearest  disquisitions  on  the  employment  of  words  by  Greek 
authors,  most  of  which  I was  not  sufficiently  advanced  to  profit 
by.  His  manner  with  me  was  impatient,  and  often  rude  and 
contemptuous.  What  irritated  him  especially  in  me  was  the 
strange  inequality  of  my  learning,  for  I was  rather  strong  on 
some  points,  and  equally  weak  on  others;  whilst  he  himself 
had  an  irresistible  regularity  of  knowledge,  at  least  in  Latin 
and  Greek. 

We  did  absolutely  nothing  else  but  Latin  and  Greek  dur- 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


97 


ing  my  stay  with  this  tutor,  and  I suppose  I must  have  made 
some  progress,  but  there  was  no  feeling  of  progress.  In  com- 
parison with  the  completeness  of  my  master’s  terrible  erudi- 
tion it  seemed  that  my  small  acquirements  were  nothing,  and 
never  could  be  more  than  nothing.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
extreme  narrowness  of  his  literary  tastes  led  me  to  place  a 
higher  value  on  my  own  increasing  knowledge  of  modern 
literature,  and  conclusively  proved  to  me,  once  for  all,  that  a 
classical  education  does  not  necessarily  give  a just  or  accurate 
judgment.  “ If  a man,  ” I said  to  myself,  “ can  be  a thorough 
classical  scholar  as  my  tutor  is,  and  at  the  same  time  so  nar- 
row and  ignorant,  it  is  clear  that  a classical  training  does  not 
possess  the  virtue  of  opening  the  mind  which  is  ascribed  to  it.  ” 

Besides  his  narrowness  with  regard  to  modern  literature  of 
all  kinds,  my  tutor  had  the  usual  characteristic  of  the  classi- 
cal scholars  of  his  generation,  a complete  ignorance  and  mis- 
understanding of  the  fine  arts.  All  that  he  knew  on  that 
subject  was  that  a certain  picture  by  Titian  was  shameful 
because  there  was  a naked  woman  in  it;  and  I believe  he  had 
heard  that  Claude  was  a famous  landscape-painter,  but  he  had 
no  conception  whatever  of  the  aims  and  purposes  of  art.  One 
of  his  accusations  against  me  was  that,  from  vanity,  I had 
painted  a portrait  of  myself.  As  a matter  of  fact,  the  little 
picture  was  a portrait  of  Lord  Byron,  done  from  an  engrav- 
ing; but  any  artist  may,  without  vanity,  make  use  of  his  own 
face  as  a model. 

In  religion  my  tutor  was  most  intolerant.  He  could  not 
endure  either  Roman  Catholics  or  Dissenters  of  any  kind,  and 
considered  no  terms  harsh  enough  for  infidels.  He  told  with 
approbation  the  story  of  some  bigot  like  himself,  who,  when 
an  unbeliever  came  into  his  house,  had  loudly  ordered  the 
servant  to  lock  up  the  silver  spoons.  He  possessed  and  read 
with  approbation  one  of  those  intolerant  books  of  the  eigh- 
teenth century  entitled,  “A  Short  Method  with  Deists,”  in 
which  the  poor  Deists  were  crushed  beneath  the  pitiless  heel 
of  the  dominant  State  Church.  It  happened  one  day,  by  a 
strange  chance,  that  an  antiquary  brought  a Unitarian  minis- 
ter, who  also  took  an  interest  in  archaeology,  to  visit  the 

7 


98 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


church  where  my  tutor  officiated,  in  which  there  were  some 
old  things,  and  as  they  stayed  in  the  church  till  our  early 
dinner-time,  my  tutor  could  hardly  do  otherwise  than  offer 
them  a little  hospitality.  When  the  guests  had  gone  (I  hope 
they  enjoyed  the  conversation,  which  seemed  to  me  artificial 
and  constrained)  my  tutor  said  to  me:  “That  man,  that 
Unitarian,  will  go  to  hell!  All  who  do  not  believe  in  the 
Atonement  will  go  to  hell!  ” I said  nothing,  but  thought 
that  the  mild  antiquary  who  sat  with  us  at  table  might  deserve 
a less  terrible  fate.  My  tutor  troubled  me  less,  perhaps, 
about  theology  than  might  have  been  expected.  He  intended 
to  inflict  much  more  theology  upon  me  than  I really  had  to 
undergo,  thanks  to  his  indolence,  and  the  craft  and  subtlety 
with  which  I managed  to  substitute  other  work  for  it.  Still, 
it  was  a trial  to  me  to  have  to  look  acquiescent,  or  at  least 
submissive  and  respectful,  whilst  he  said  the  most  unjust  and 
intolerant  things  about  those  who  differed  from  him,  and  with 
whom  I often  secretly  agreed.  And  of  course  I had  to  listen 
to  his  sermons  every  Sunday,  and  to  go  through  the  outward 
seemings  of  conformity  that  my  master  had  power  enough  to 
exact  from  me.  Beyond  the  weekly  services  in  the  church 
he  fulfilled  scarcely  any  of  the  duties  of  a parish  clergyman. 
He  rose  about  eleven  in  the  morning,  and  spent  his  time 
either  in  mechanical  pursuits  or  in  desultory  reading,  often 
of  the  Greek  and  Latin  classics.  In  fact,  my  tutor’s  mind 
was  so  imbued  with  the  dead  languages  that  he  was  unable  to 
write  his  own,  but  had  constant  recourse  to  Greek  and  Latin 
to  make  his  meaning  clear. 

A year  spent  with  this  clergyman,  with  whom  I had  not 
two  ideas  in  common,  produced  an  effect  upon  me  exactly 
opposite  to  that  which  had  been  intended.  My  feelings 
towards  the  ancient  classics  had  grown  into  positive  repug- 
nance when  I saw  the  moderns  so  unjustly  sacrificed  to  them, 
and  my  love  for  the  moderns  had  increased  to  the  point  of 
partisanship.  My  tutor’s  injustice  towards  Dissenters  and 
unbelievers  had  also,  by  a natural  reaction,  aroused  in  me  a 
profound  sympathy  for  these  maligned  and  despised  people, 
and  I would  willingly  have  joined  some  dissenting  body 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


99 


myself  if  I could  have  found  one  that  had  exactly  my  own 
opinions ; hut  it  seemed  useless  to  leave  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land for  another  community  if  I were  no  more  in  accordance 
with  the  new  than  with  the  old.  The  fact  that  my  master 
had  been  a tutor  at  Oxford  and  was  always  boasting  about  his 
university  career  — he  openly  expressed  his  contempt  for  men 
who  “ had  never  seen  the  smoke  of  a university  ” — made  me 
sick  of  the  very  name  of  the  place,  and  to  this  day  I have 
never  visited  it.  In  a word,  my  tutor  made  me  dislike  the 
very  things  that  it  was  his  business  to  make  me  like,  and  if 
I had  ever  felt  the  least  desire  for  a degree  he  would  have 
cured  me  of  it,  as  it  was  impossible  to  desire  honors  that  were 
accessible  to  so  narrow  a mind  as  his,  a mind  fit  for  nothing 
but  pedagogy,  and  really  unable  to  appreciate  either  literature 
or  art. 

At  the  end  of  a year,  therefore,  I said  plainly  to  my  guard- 
ian that  I was  doing  no  good,  and  that  it  was  useless  to  pre- 
pare me  any  further  for  Oxford,  as  I could  not  conscientiously 
put  my  name  to  the  Thirty-nine  Articles. 

If,  in  those  days,  any  human  being  in  our  class  of  society 
in  England  had  been  able  to  conceive  of  such  a thing  as  edu- 
cation not  in  clerical  hands,  I might  have  gone  on  with  my 
classical  studies  under  the  direction  of  a layman;  but  educa- 
tion and  the  clergy  were  looked  upon  as  inseparable;  even 
by  myself.  My  education,  therefore,  came  momentarily  to  a 
stand-still,  though  it  happened  a little  later  that  a sense  of 
its  imperfection  made  me  take  it  up  again  with  fresh  energy 
on  my  own  account,  and  I am  still  working  at  it,  in  various 
directions,  at  the  mature  age  of  fifty-two. 


100 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

1852. 

Choice  of  a profession.  — Love  of  literature  and  art.  — Decision  to  make 
trial  of  both.  — An  equestrian  tour.  — Windermere.  — Derwent  water. 
— I take  lessons  from  Mr.  J.  P.  Pettitt.  — Ulleswater.  — My  horse 
Turf.  — Greenock,  a discovery.  — My  unsettled  cousin.  — Glasgow.  — 
Loch  Lomond.  — Inverary.  — Loch  Awe.  — Inishail.  — Iunistrynich. 

Oban.  — A sailing  excursion.  — Mull  and  Ulva.  — Solitary  reading. 

The  question  of  a profession  now  required  an  immediate 
decision.  My  guardian’s  choice  for  me  had  formerly  been 
the  Church,  but  that  was  not  exactly  suited  to  my  ways  of 
thinking.  The  most  natural  profession  for  a young  man  in 
my  position  would  have  been  the  law,  but  my  father  had 
expressly  desired  that  I should  not  adopt  it,  as  he  was  sick 
of  it  for  himself,  and  wished  to  spare  me  its  anxieties.  The 
cotton  trade  required  a larger  disposable  capital  than  I pos- 
sessed, to  start  with  any  chance  of  success. 

My  own  desires  were  equally  balanced  between  two  pur- 
suits for  which  I had  a great  liking,  and  hoped  that  there 
might  be  some  natural  aptitude.  One  of  these  was  literature, 
and  the  other  painting.  A very  moderate  success  in  either 
of  these  pursuits  would,  it  seemed  to  me,  be  more  conducive 
to  happiness  than  a greater  success  in  some  less  congenial 
occupation.  My  fortune  was  enough  for  a bachelor,  and  I 
did  not  intend  to  marry,  at  least  for  a long  time. 

There  was  no  thought  of  ambition  in  connection  with  the 
desire  to  follow  one  of  these  two  pursuits,  beyond  that  of  the 
workman  who  desires  to  do  well.  I mean,  I had  no  social 
ambition  in  connection  with  them.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the 
liberty  of  thought  which  I valued  above  everything  was 
incompatible,  in  England,  with  any  desire  to  rise  in  the 
world,  as  unbelievers  lay  under  a ban,  and  had  no  chance  of 
social  advancement  without  renouncing  their  opinions.  This 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


101 


was  an  additional  reason  why  I should  seek  happiness  in  my 
studies,  as  a worldly  success  was  denied  to  me. 

The  reader  may  perhaps  think  that  I had  not  much,  in  the 
way  of  social  advancement,  to  renounce,  but  in  fact  I had  a 
position  remarkably  full  of  possibilities,  that  a man  of  the 
world  could  have  used  to  great  advantage.  I had  indepen- 
dent means,  enough  to  enable  me,  as  a bachelor,  to  live  like  a 
gentleman ; I belonged  to  one  of  the  oldest  and  best-descended 
families  in  the  English  untitled  aristocracy,  had  a retentive 
memory,  a strong  voice,  and  could  speak  in  public  without 
embarrassment.  A man  of  the  world,  in  my  position,  would 
have  found  his  upward  course  straight  before  him.  He  would 
simply  have  made  use  of  the  Church  as  an  instrument  (it  is 
one  of  the  most  valuable  instruments  for  the  worldly) , have 
given  himself  the  advantages  of  Oxford,  married  for  money, 
offered  his  services  to  the  Conservative  party,  and  gone  into 
Parliament.1 

It  would  have  been  much  easier  to  do  all  that  than  to  make 
a reputation  either  in  literature  or  painting,  — easier,  I mean, 
for  a man  starting  in  life  with  so  many  good  cards  in  his  hand 
as  I had. 

I have  been  sometimes  represented  as  an  unsuccessful  painter 
who  took  to  writing  because  he  had  failed  as  an  artist.  It  is, 
of  course,  easy  to  state  the  matter  so,  but  the  exact  truth  is 
that  a very  moderate  success  in  either  literature  or  art  would 
have  been  equally  acceptable  to  me,  so  that  there  has  been  no 
other  failure  in  my  life  than  the  usual  one  of  not  being  able 
to  catch  two  hares  at  the  same  time.  Very  few  dogs  have 
ever  been  able  to  do  that. 

I decided  to  try  to  be  a painter  and  to  try  to  be  an  author, 
and  see  what  came  of  both  attempts.  My  guardian  always 
thought  I should  end  by  being  an  author,  and  though  she  had 
no  prejudice  against  painting,  she  looked  upon  it  as  a pursuit 

1 The  reader  may  wonder  why  the  Conservative  party  is  specially  men- 
tioned. It  is  mentioned  simply  because  all  my  relations  and  nearly  all  my 
influential  friends  (who  could  have  pushed  me)  belonged  to  it.  The  Con- 
servative party  is  also  the  one  that  gives  the  best  social  promotion  to  those 
who  serve  it.  There  have  been  many  little  Beaconsfields. 


102 


A UTOBIO  GRAPHY. 


likely  to  be  very  tedious,  at  times,  to  those  who  practise  it, 
in  which  she  was  quite  right.  It  is  generally  a hard  struggle, 
requiring  infinite  patience,  even  in  the  clever  and  successful. 

One  of  the  first  things  I did  was  to  go  on  horseback  to  the 
English  Lake  district  in  the  summer  of  1852,  with  the  inten- 
tion of  continuing  the  journey,  still  on  horseback,  into  the 
mountainous  regions  of  Scotland.  Unfortunately  this  project 
could  not  be  executed  with  the  horse  I then  possessed,  the 
most  dangerous,  sulky,  resolute,  and  cunning  brute  I ever 
mounted.  I rode  him  as  far  as  Keswick,  where  a horse- 
breaker  tried  him  and  said  his  temper  was  incurable,  recom- 
mending me  to  have  him  shot.  The  advice  was  excellent, 
but  I could  not  find  it  in  my  heart  to  destroy  such  a fine- 
looking  animal,  so  I left  him  in  grass  at  Penrith,  and  went 
on  to  Scotland  by  the  usual  means  of  travelling,  — a change 
that  I regret  to  this  day. 

I had  materials  with  me  for  painting  studies  in  oil,  and 
painted  at  Windermere  and  Derwentwater.  It  was  an  inex- 
pressible pleasure  to  see  these  lakes,  and  a mental  torment  not 
to  be  able  to  paint  them  better. 

My  first  sight  of  Windermere  (or  of  any  natural  lake,  for  I 
had  hitherto  seen  nothing  but  fish-ponds  and  reservoirs)  was 
enjoyed  under  peculiarly  impressive  circumstances.  I had 
been  riding  alone  or  walking  by  the  side  of  my  horse  during 
the  night,  and  arrived  at  the  lake  shore  by  the  guidance  of  a 
star.  I wrote  down  my  first  impression  next  day,  and  have 
kept  the  words. 

**  I could  not  find  the  way  to  the  little  harbor  of  Bowness,  and 
so  went  on  for  a considerable  distance  till  I came  to  a gate  which, 
as  I knew,  from  the  position  of  the  north  star,  would  lead  directly 
to  the  lake  across  the  fields.  There  was  a small  and  scarcely  trace- 
able footpath,  and  a board  to  warn  trespassers.  However,  I fas- 
tened the  horse  to  the  gate  and  proceeded.  I soon  arrived  at  the 
shore,  and  was  overawed  by  a scene  of  overpowering  magnifi- 
cence. The  day  was  just  dawning.  The  water  mirrored  the  isles, 
except  where  the  mist  floated  on  its  surface  and  wreathed  round 
their  bases.  The  trees  were  massed  by  it  into  domes  and  towers 
that  seemed  to  float  on  the  cloudy  lake  as  if  by  enchantment.  The 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


103 


stars  were  growing  pale  in  the  yellowing  east;  the  distant  hills 
were  coldly  blue,  till  far  away  lake  and  hill  and  sky  melted  into 
cloud. 

“ Opposite,  I saw  the  dark  form  of  an  island  rising  between  me 
and  the  other  shores,  strongly  relieved  against  the  mist  which 
crept  along  the  base  of  the  opposite  mountain  and  almost  clam- 
bered to  its  dark  summit.  The  reflection  of  the  dark  upper  part 
of  the  mountain  (which  rose  clear  of  the  mist)  fell  on  the  lake  in 
such  a manner  as  to  enclose  that  of  the  island.  In  another  direc- 
tion an  island  was  gradually  throwing  off  its  white  robe  of  mist, 
and  the  light  showed  through  the  interstices  of  the  foliage  that  I 
had  taken  for  a crag. 

“ I had  a pistol  with  me,  and  tried  the  echo,  though  it  seemed 
wrong  to  disturb  a silence  so  sublime.  I fired,  and  had  time  to 
regret  that  there  was  no  echo  before  a peal  of  musketry  came  from 
the  nearer  hills  and  then  a fainter  peal  from  the  distance,  followed 
by  an  audible  rejoinder.” 

This  is  the  kind  of  travel  for  the  enjoyment  of  natural 
beauty.  One  should  be  either  quite  alone,  or  have  a single 
companion  of  the  same  tastes,  and  one  should  be  above  all 
commonplace  considerations  about  hours.  Samuel  Palmer 
often  walked  the  whole  night  alone,  for  the  pleasure  of  observ- 
ing the  beautiful  changes  between  sunset  and  sunrise. 

In  the  evening  there  was  a fine  red  sunset  followed  by 
moonlight,  so  I took  a boat  and  rowed  out  in  the  moonlight 
alone.  This  first  experience  of  lake  scenery  was  an  enchant- 
ment, and  it  had  a great  influence  on  my  future  life  by  giving 
me  a passion  for  lakes,  or  by  increasing  the  passion  that  (in 
some  inexplicable  way)  I had  felt  for  them  from  childhood. 
One  of  the  earliest  poems  I had  attempted  to  compose  began 
with  the  stanza,  — 

“ A cold  and  chilly  mist 

Broodeth  o’er  Winandermere, 

And  the  heaven-descended  cloud  hath  kissed 
The  still  lake  drear.” 

I had  already  tried  to  paint  lake  scenery,  in  copying  a picture, 
and  my  favorite  illustrations  in  the  Abbotsford  edition  of  Scott’s 
works  were  the  lochs  that  I was  now  to  see  for  the  first  time. 


104 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


After  a night  at  Ambleside  I saw  Rydal  Water  in  sunshine 
and  calm,  with  faint  breezes  playing  on  its  surface,  and  rode 
on  to  Keswick  through  the  Yale  of  St.  John.  The  only  way 
in  which  it  was  possible  to  ride  the  brute  I possessed  was 
in  putting  him  behind  a carriage,  which  he  followed  as  if  he 
had  been  tied  to  it.  In  this  manner  I reached  Keswick,  after 
apologizing  to  a family  party  for  dogging  their  carriage  so 
closely.  As  soon  as  the  vehicle  came  to  a stop  opposite  the 
hotel,  my  horse,  Turf,  threw  out  his  heels  vigorously  in  the 
crowd.  Luckily  he  hurt  nobody,  but  the  bystanders  told  me 
that  one  of  his  shoes  had  been  within  six  inches  of  a young 
lady’s  face.  A vicious  horse  is  a perpetual  anxiety.  Turf 
kicked  in  the  stable  as  well  as  out  of  it,  and  hit  a groom  on 
the  forehead  a few  days  later.  The  man  would  probably  have 
been  killed  without  the  leather  of  his  cap. 

Finding  an  artist  at  Keswick,  Mr.  J.  P.  Pettitt,  I asked 
his  advice  and  became  his  pupil  for  a few  days.  I climbed 
Skiddaw  during  the  night  with  one  of  Mr.  Pettitt’s  sons, 
who  was  a geologist  and  a landscape-painter  also.  When  we 
got  to  the  top  of  the  mountain  we  were  enveloped  in  a thick 
mist,  which  remained  till  we  descended;  but  I lay  down  in 
my  waterproof  on  the  lee  side  of  the  cairn,  and  slept  in  happy 
oblivion  of  discomfort. 

Mr.  Pettitt’s  lessons  were  of  some  use  to  me,  but  as  all  my 
serious  education  hitherto  had  been  classical,  I was  not  suffi- 
ciently advanced  in  practical  art  to  prepare  me  for  color,  and 
I ought  to  have  been  making  studies  of  light  and  shade  in 
sepia. 

There  was  nothing  more  difficult  in  those  days  than  for  a 
young  gentleman  to  become  an  artist,  because  no  human  being 
would  believe  that  he  could  be  serious  in  such  an  intention. 
As  I had  a fine-looking  horse  in  the  stable  at  the  hotel, 
Pettitt  of  course  took  me  for  an  amateur,  and  only  attempted 
to  communicate  the  superficial  dexterity  that  amateurs  usually 
desire.  It  was  my  misfortune  to  be  constantly  attempting 
what  was  far  too  difficult  for  me  in  art,  and  not  to  find  any 
one  ready  and  willing  to  put  me  on  the  right  path.  I was 
very  well  able,  already,  to  make  studies  in  sepia  that  would 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


105 


have  been  valuable  material  for  future  reference,  whereas  my 
oil  studies  were  perfectly  worthless,  and  much  more  incon- 
venient and  embarrassing. 

» I was  enchanted  with  the  Lake  District,  seeing  Winder- 
mere,  Derwentwater,  and  Ulleswater,  besides  several  minor 
lakes;  but  although  I delighted  in  all  inland  waters  and  the 
Lake  District  was  so  near  to  my  own  home,  I never  revisited 
it.  The  reason  was  that,  after  seeing  the  grander  Highlands 
of  Scotland,  I became  spoiled  for  the  English  Lakes.  There 
was  another  reason,  — the  absence  of  human  interest  on  the 
English  lakes  except  of  a quite  modern  kind,  there  being  no 
old  castles  on  shore  or  island.  Lyulph’s  Tower,  on  Ulles- 
water, though  immortalized  by  Wordsworth,  is  nothing  but  a 
modern  hunting-box.  Nevertheless,  I have  often  regretted 
that  I did  not  become  more  familiar  with  Wordsworth’s  coun- 
try in  my  youth. 

The  mention  of  Lyulph’s  Tower  reminds  me  that  when  I 
landed  there  after  a hard  pull  of  seven  miles  against  a strong 
wind,  I was  kindly  invited  to  take  part  in  a merry  picnic  that 
was  just  being  held  there  by  some  farmers  of  the  neighbor- 
hood. A very  pretty  girl  asked  me  to  dance , and  I afterwards 
played  the  fiddle.  The  scene  with  the  dancers  in  the  fore- 
ground on  the  green  sward,  and  the  lake  and  mountains  in  the 
distance,  was  one  of  the  most  poetical  I ever  beheld. 

Turf  had  been  ridden  from  Keswick  to  Penrith  by  the 
horse-breaker  already  mentioned,  and  with  infinite  difficulty. 
I would  have  left  him  in  the  breaker’s  hands,  but  he  refused 
to  mount  again,  saying  that  he  had  done  enough  for  his  credit, 
and  so  had  I for  mine.  By  his  advice  I took  the  same  resolu- 
tion, and  as  nobody  in  Penrith  would  ride  the  brute,  he  was 
left  to  grow  still  wilder  in  a green  field  whilst  I went  on  to 
Scotland  by  the  train. 

I had  a cousin  at  Greenock  who  was  learning  to  be  a marine 
constructing  engineer.  He  was  a young  man  of  remarkable 
ability,  who  afterwards  distinguished  himself  in  his  profes- 
sion, and  might  no  doubt  have  made  a large  fortune  if  his 
habits  had  not  been  imprudent  and  unsettled.  At  that  time 
he  was  tied  to  Greenock  by  an  engagement  with  one  of  the 


106 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


great  firms  where  he  was  articled.  He  had  rooms  in  a quiet 
street,  and  offered  me  hospitality.  One  day  I came  in  unex- 
pectedly and  found  a baby  in  my  bed,  when  the  door  opened 
suddenly,  and  a very  pretty  girl  with  dark  eyes  came  and 
took  the  baby  away  with  an  apology.  I immediately  said  to 
myself : “ My  cousin  has  been  privately  married,  that  pair 
of  dark  eyes  has  cost  him  his  liberty,  and  that  child  is  an 
infantine  relation  of  mine ! ” This  discovery  remained  a long 
time  a secret  in  my  own  breast,  and  I affected  a complete 
absence  of  suspicion  during  the  rest  of  my  stay  at  Greenock, 
but  it  was  afterwards  fully  confirmed.  My  cousin  had,  in 
fact,  married  at  the  early  age  of  nineteen,  when  he  was  still 
an  articled  pupil  with  Messrs.  Caird,  and  living  on  an  allow- 
ance from  his  father,  whom  he  dared  not  ask  for  an  increase. 
He  was  therefore  obliged  to  eke  out  his  means  by  teaching 
mechanical  drawing  in  the  evenings;  but  though  his  marriage 
had  been  an  imprudence,  it  was  not  a folly.  He  had,  in  fact, 
shown  excellent  judgment  in  the  choice  of  a wife.  The  dark 
eyes  were  not  all.  Behind  them  there  was  a soul  full  of  the 
most  cheerful  courage,  the  sweetest  affection,  the  most  faithful 
devotion.  Tor  thirty-seven  years  my  cousin’s  wife  followed 
him  everywhere,  and  bore  his  roving  propensity  with  wonder- 
ful good  humor.  What  that  propensity  was,  the  reader  may 
partly  realize  when  I tell  him  that  in  those  thirty- seven  years 
my  cousin  went  through  eighty- seven  removals,  some  of  them 
across  the  greatest  distances  that  are  to  be  found  upon  the 
planet.  The  only  reason  why  he  did  not  remove  to  all  the 
different  planets  one  after  another  was  the  absence  of  a road 
to  them.  This  tendency  of  my  cousin  Orme  had  been  pre- 
dicted by  a French  phrenologist  at  Manchester  when  he  was 
a boy.  The  phrenologist  had  said,  after  examining  his 
“ bumps,”  that  Orme  would  settle  in  a place  for  a short  time 
and  appear  satisfied  at  first,  as  if  it  were  for  good,  but  that 
very  soon  afterwards  he  would  go  elsewhere  and  repeat  the^ 
process.  I never  met  with  any  other  human  being  who  had 
such  an  unsettled  disposition.  The  consequence  was  that  he 
often  quitted  places  where  he  was  extremely  prosperous,  and 
people  who  not  only  appreciated  his  extraordinary  talents,  but 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


107 


were  ready  to  reward  them  handsomely,  in  order  to  go  he 
knew  not  whither,  and  undertake  he  knew  not  what. 

I left  Greenock  by  an  early  steamer  for  Glasgow,  and 
remember  this  one  detail  of  the  voyage.  The  morning  air 
was  brisk  and  keen,  so  I was  not  sorry  to  breakfast  when  the 
meal  was  announced,  and  did  ample  justice  to  it  with  a young 
and  vigorous  appetite.  Having  eaten  my  third  poached  egg, 
and  feeling  still  ready  for  the  more  substantial  dishes  that 
awaited  me,  I suddenly  recollected  that  I had  already  dis- 
posed of  an  ample  Scotch  breakfast  at  my  cousin’s.  Can  any- 
thing more  conclusively  prove  the  wonderful  virtue  of  early 
hours  and  the  healthy  northern  air  ? 

After  visiting  Glasgow  and  the  Falls  of  Clyde  in  drenching 
rain,  I saw  Loch  Lomond,  which  was  my  first  experience  of 
a Highland  lake,  and  therefore  memorable  for  me.  The 
gradual  approach,  on  the  steamer,  towards  the  mountains  at 
the  upper  end  of  the  lake  was  a revelation  of  Highland 
scenery.  The  day  happened  to  be  one  of  rapidly  changing 
effects.  A rugged  hill  with  its  bosses  and  crags  was  one 
minute  in  brilliant  light,  to  be  in  shade  the  next,  as  the  mas- 
sive clouds  flew  over  it,  and  the  colors  varied  from  pale  blue 
to  dark  purple  and  brown  and  green,  with  that  wonderful 
freshness  of  tint  and  vigor  of  opposition  that  belong  to  the 
wilder  landscapes  of  the  north.  From  that  day  my  affections 
were  conquered;  as  the  steamer  approached  nearer  and  nearer 
to  the  colossal  gates  of  the  mountains,  and  the  deep  waters  of 
the  lake  narrowed  in  the  contracting  glen,  I felt  in  my  heart 
a sort  of  exultation  like  the  delight  of  a young  horse  in  the 
first  sense  of  freedom  in  the  boundless  pasture. 

The  next  sunrise  I saw  from  the  top  of  Ben  Lomond,  but 
will  spare  the  reader  the  description.  It  was  a delight 
beyond  words  for  an  enthusiastic  young  reader  of  Scott  to 
look  upon  Loch  Katrine  at  last.  Thousands  of  tourists  have 
been  drawn  to  the  same  scenes  by  their  interest  in  the  same 
poet,  yet  few  of  them,  I fancy,  had  in  the  same  degree  with 
myself  the  three  passions  for  literature,  for  nature,  and  for 
art.  If  little  has  come  of  these  passions,  it  was  certainly  not 
from  any  want  of  intensity  in  them , but  in  consequence  of 


108 


A UTOBIO  GRAPHY. 


certain  critical  influences  that  will  be  explained  later.  I 
will  only  say  in  this  place,  that  if  the  passion  for  art  had 
been  strongest  of  the  three  the  productive  result  would  have 
been  greater. 

From  Tarbet  on  Loch  Lomond  I went  to  Inverary,  and  the 
first  thing  I did  there  was  to  hire  a sailing-boat  and  go  beat- 
ing to  windward  on  Loch  Fyne.  I made  a sketch  of  the 
ruined  castle  of  Dundera,  which  stands  between  the  road  and 
the  loch  on  a pretty  rocky  promontory.  For  some  time  I had 
a strong  fancy  for  this  castle,  and  wanted  to  rent  it  on  lease 
and  restore  three  or  four  rooms  in  it  for  my  own  use.  The 
choice  would  have  been  in  some  respects  wiser  than  that  I 
afterwards  made,  as  Dundera  has  such  easy  access  to  Inverary 
by  a perfectly  level  and  good  road  on  the  water’s  edge,  and 
by  the  water  itself ; but  the  scenery  of  Loch  Fyne  is  not  as 
attractive  as  that  of  Loch  Awe,  and  there  is  always  a certain 
inevitable  dreariness  about  a salt-water  loch  which,  to  my 
feeling,  would  make  it  depressing  for  long  residence. 

I had  travelled  from  Tarbet  with  a rather  elderly  couple 
who  were  very  kind  to  me,  and  afterwards  invited  me  to  their 
house  in  Yorkshire.  The  lady  was  connected  with  Sir  James 
Ross,  the  Arctic  discoverer,  and  her  husband  had  been  a friend 
of  Theodore  Hook,  of  whom  he  told  me  many  amusing  anec- 
dotes. They  were  both  most  amiable,  cheerful  people,  and  we 
formed  a merry  party  of  three  when  first  I saw  Loch  Awe,  as 
the  carriage  descended  the  road  from  Inverary  to  Cladicli  on 
the  way  to  Dalmally.  As  I kept  a journal  of  this  tour,  I 
find  easily  the  account  of  my  first  boating  on  Loch  Awe.  It 
was  in  the  month  of  August  when  we  had  come  to  a halt  at 
Cladich:  — 

“ In  the  afternoon  I made  a sketch  of  the  bridge  taken  from  the 
ravine.  It  occupied  me  four  hours,  as  the  scene  was  of  the  most 
elaborate  character.  We  dined  at  four  o’clock,  and  then  strolled 
to  the  lake,  which  was  at  some  distance.  Two  boats  were  lying  in 
a small  stream  which  emptied  itself  into  the  lake,  so  I pressed  one 
of  them  into  my  service,  and  was  soon  out  upon  the  water.  The 
boat  was  old,  badly  built,  and  rickety.  The  starboard  oar  was 
cracked,  and  the  port  oar  had  been  broken  in  two  and  mended 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


109 


with  bands  of  iron.  The  bottom  was  several  inches  deep  in  water, 
the  thwarts  were  not  securely  fastened,  nor  were  they  at  right 
angles  to  the  keel.  Out  in  the  loch  the  waves  were  high,  and  the 
crazy  craft  rolled  and  pitched  like  a beer-barrel,  the  water  in  her 
washing  from  side  to  side.  However,  I reached  the  island  called 
* Inishail.’  It  was  a striking  scene.  Around  me  were  the  tombs 
of  many  generations.  In  the  far  distance  the  dark  ruin  of  Kil- 
churn  was  reduced  almost  to  insignificance  by  its  background  of 
rugged  hills  towering  into  the  clouds. 

“Night  was  coming  on  quickly  as  I rowed  back  to  the  mouth  of 
the  little  river.  On  reaching  the  inn  I found  that  the  people  were 
getting  anxious  about  me.” 

This  first  row  on  Loch  Awe  has  a pathetic  interest  for  me 
to  this  day.  It  was  like  one’s  first  meeting  with  a friend  who 
was  destined  to  become  very  dear  and  to  exercise  a powerful 
influence  on  the  whole  current  of  one’s  life. 

As  my  first  impression  of  London  had  been,  “This  is  a 
place  an  Englishman  ought  to  see  once,  but  I will  never  come 
to  it  again,”  so  my  first  impression  about  Loch  Awe  was  a 
profound  sort  of  melancholy  happiness  in  the  place  and  a 
longing  to  revisit  it.  I never  afterwards  quitted  Loch  Awe 
without  the  same  longing  to  return,  and  I have  never  seen 
any  place  in  the  world  that  inspired  in  me  that  nostalgia  in 
anything  like  an  equal  degree. 

There  is  an  affinity  between  persons  and  places,  but  the 
Loch  Awe  that  won  my  affection  exists  no  longer.  What 
delighted  me  was  the  complete  unity  of  character  that  pre- 
vailed there,  the  lonely  magnificent  mountains,  the  vast 
expanse  of  water  only  crossed  occasionally  by  some  poor  open 
boat,  the  melancholy  ruins  on  island  or  peninsula,  the  wilder- 
ness, the  sadness,  the  pervading  sense  of  solitude,  a solitude 
peopled  only  with  traditions  of  a romantic  past.  It  was 
almost  as  lonely  as  some  distant  lake  in  the  wilds  of  Canada 
that  the  Indian  crosses  in  his  canoe,  yet  its  ruined  castles  gave 
a poetry  that  no  American  waters  can  ever  possess.  Such  was 
Loch  Awe  that  I loved  with  the  melancholy  affection  of  youth 
before  the  experience  of  life  had  taught  me  a more  active  and 
practical  philosophy  than  the  indulgence  in  the  sweet  sadness 


110 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


of  these  reveries.  But  Loch  Awe  of  to-day  and  of  the  future 
is  as  modern  and  practical  as  the  sea-lochs  that  open  upon  the 
Clyde.  On  my  first  visit  in  1852  there  was  neither  steamer 
nor  sailing-boat;  now  there  are  fourteen  steamers  on  the  lake, 
four  of  them  public,  and  the  railway  trains  pass  round  the 
skirts  of  Cruachan  and  rush  through  the  Brandir  Pass. 
There  is  a big  hotel,  they  tell  me,  just  opposite  Kilchurn, 
from  which  place,  by  express  train,  you  can  get  to  Edinburgh 
in  four  hours. 

The  day  after  our  arrival  at  Loch  Awe  turned  out  to  be 
most  beautiful  (a  fine  day  in  the  Highlands  seems,  by  con- 
trast, far  more  beautiful  than  elsewhere),  and  I shall  never 
forget  the  enchantment  of  the  head  of  Loch  Awe  as  our  car- 
riage slowly  descended  the  hilly  road  from  Cladich  towards 
Dalmally,  stopping  frequently  for  me  to  look  and  sketch. 
When  we  got  near  the  island,  or  peninsula,  of  Innistrynich, 
with  its  dark  green  oaks  and  pasture-land  of  a brighter  green 
in  the  sunshine,  and  gray  rocks  coming  down  into  the  calm, 
dark  water,  it  seemed  to  my  northern  taste  the  realization  of 
an  earthly  paradise.  I have  lived  upon  it  since,  and  unwill- 
ingly left  it,  and  to  this  day  I have  the  most  passionate  affec- 
tion for  it,  and  often  dream  about  it  painfully  or  pleasurably, 
the  most  painful  dream  of  all  being  that  it  has  been  spoiled 
by  the  present  owner,  which  happily  is  quite  the  contrary  of 
the  truth. 

I went  to  Oban  on  the  top  of  the  coach  in  the  most  bril- 
liant weather  that  ever  is  or  can  be,  alternate  sunshine  and 
rain,  with  white  clouds  of  a dazzling  brightness.  Under  this 
enchantment,  the  barren  land  of  Lome  seemed  beautiful,  and 
one  forgot  its  poverty.  For  the  first  time,  I saw  the  waters  of 
Loch  Etive,  then  a pale  blue,  stretching  far  inland,  and  the  dis- 
tant hills  of  Morven  were,  or  seemed  to  be,  of  the  purest  azure. 

When  my  new  friends  had  left  me  at  Oban,  I hired  a 
sailing-boat  and  two  men  for  a voyage  amongst  the  Western 
Isles;  but  as  she  was  an  open  boat,  the  men  did  not  like  the 
idea  of  risking  our  lives  in  her  on  the  exposed  waters  of  the 
Atlantic,  so  the  voyage  was  confined  to  the  Sound  of  Mull, 
and  I crossed  the  island  to  its  western  shore  on  foot.  That 


A UTOBIOGRAPHY. 


Ill 


voyage  left  permanent  recollections  of  grand  effects  and  wild 
scenery  of  the  kind  afterwards  described  by  William  Black 
in  his  “ Macleod  of  Dare.”  As  we  sailed  across  the  Sound  in 
the  evening  from  Oban  to  Auchincraig,  the  sky  was  full  of 
tom  rain-clouds  flying  swiftly  and  catching  the  lurid  hues 
from  the  sunset,  whilst  the  distant  mountains  and  cliffs  of 
Mull  were  of  that  dark  purple  which  seems  melancholy  and 
funereal  in  landscape,  though  it  is  one  of  the  richest  colors 
in  the  world.  It  was  dangerous  weather  for  sailing,  being 
very  squally,  and  in  the  year  1852  I knew  nothing  about  the 
management  of  sailing-boats;  but  the  men  were  not  impru- 
dent, and  after  coasting  under  the  cliffs  of  Mull  we  landed  at 
Auchincraig,  where  at  that  time  there  was  a miserable  inn. 
The  next  day  we  had  a glorious  sail  up  the  sound  to  the  Bay 
of  Aros,  stopping  only  to  see  Duart  Castle.  In  walking 
across  the  island  to  Loch  na  Keal,  we  passed  through  a 
most  picturesque  camp,  that  would  have  delighted  Landseer. 
There  were  hundreds  of  horses  and  innumerable  dogs  of  the 
picturesque  northern  breeds.  It  was  the  half-yearly  market 
of  Mull. 

I shall  never  forget  my  first  sight  of  Ulva,  as  we  sat  on  the 
shore  of  Mull  waiting  for  the  ferry-boat.  Ulva  lay,  a great 
dark  mass,  under  the  crimson  west,  reflected  in  a glassy  sea. 
We  had  already  seen  Staffa  and  Iona,  pale  in  the  distant 
Atlantic.  Then  the  boat  fetched  us,  and  we  floated  as  in  a 
poet’s  dream,  till  the  worst  of  inns  brought  one  back  to  a 
sense  of  reality. 

The  boatman  who  accompanied  me,  whose  name  was 
Andrew,  amused  himself  by  telling  lies  to  the  credulous 
inhabitants  of  Ulva,  and  one  of  his  inventions  was  that  I was 
going  to  purchase  the  island.  The  other  boatman,  Donald, 
slept  in  the  boat  at  Salan,  wrapped  up  in  a sail.  The  return 
voyage  to  Oban  is  thus  described  in  my  journal : — 

“ A fine  young  man  asked  me  for  a seat  in  the  boat,  which  I 
granted  on  condition  that  he  would  perform  his  share  of  the  work. 
A favorable  wind  carried  us  well  over  fifteen  miles,  half  our  dis- 
tance, and  the  rest  had  to  be  rowed.  The  sun  set  in  crimson,  and 
the  crescent  moon  arose  behind  the  blue  hills  of  Mull,  over  the  dark 


112 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


tower  of  Duart.  The  scene  was  shortly  a festival  of  lights  with 
stars  in  the  sky  and  the  water  brilliantly  phosphorescent,  so  that 
the  oar  seemed  to  drip  with  fire.  Lastly,  when  we  entered  the 
smooth  bright  bay  of  Oban,  a crescent  of  lights  shone  around  it, 
reflected  in  columns  of  flame  upon  the  surface.” 

These  were  my  chief  experiences  of  the  West  Highlands 
during  that  first  tour,  and  they  left  what  I believe  to  be  an 
indelible  impression,  for  to  this  day  I remember  quite  dis- 
tinctly under  what  kind  of  effect  each  of  these  scenes  pre- 
sented itself.  The  artistic  results  of  the  tour  consisted  of 
sketches  in  oil  and  pencil,  quite  without  value  except  to 
remind  me  of  the  scenes  passed  through,  and  of  the  most 
decidedly  amateur  character.  I also  wrote  a journal,  interest- 
ing to  me  now  for  the  minute  details  it  contains,  which  bring 
the  past  back  to  me  very  vividly,  but  utterly  without  literary 
merit.  The  wonder  is  how  a youth  with  so  little  manifest 
talent  as  may  be  found  in  these  sketches  and  journal  could 
indulge  in  any  artistic  or  literary  ambition.  My  impression 
is  that  the  dull  year  of  heavy  work  that  I had  gone  through 
with  the  Yorkshire  tutor  had  done  positive  harm  to  me. 
Besides  this,  I was  living,  intellectually,  in  great  solitude. 
My  guardian  was  very  kind,  and  she  was  a woman  of  sterling 
good  sense,  but  she  knew  nothing  about  the  fine  arts,  nor 
could  she  afford  me  much  guidance  in  my  reading,  her  own 
reading  being  limited  to  the  Bible,  and  to  some  English  and 
French  classics.  My  uncles  were  both  extremely  reserved 
men  who  did  not  encourage  my  questions,  so  I was  left  for  a 
while  to  get  on  without  other  intellectual  assistance  than  that 
afforded  by  books.  My  eldest  uncle,  the  owner  of  Hollins, 
said  one  day  to  my  guardian,  “Buy  him  the  * Encyclopaedia 
Britannica,’  it  will  prevent  him  from  asking  so  many  ques- 
tions; ” so  she  made  the  purchase,  which  gave  me  a large 
pasture,  at  least  for  facts,  and  as  for  good  literature,  my 
little  library  was  beginning  to  be  well  stocked.  I made  no 
attempt  at  that  time  to  keep  up  my  Latin  and  Greek,  nor  did 
I work  seriously  at  painting,  but  read,  drew,  and  wrote  very 
much  as  it  happened,  not  subjecting  myself  to  any  rigorous 
discipline,  yet  never  remaining  unoccupied. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


113 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

1853. 

A journal.  — Self-training.  — Attempts  in  periodical  literature.  — The  time 
given  to  versification  well  spent.  — Practical  studies  in  art.  — Begin- 
ning of  Mr.  Ruskin’s  influence.  — Difficulty  in  finding  a master  in 
landscape-painting.  — Establishment  of  the  militia.  — I accept  a com- 
mission.— Our  first  training.  — Our  colonel  and  our  adjutant. — The 
Grand  Llama.  — Paying  off  the  men. 

On  January  1,  1853,  I began  to  keep  a journal,  and  con- 
tinued it,  with  some  intermissions,  till  June,  1855.  The 
journal  is  long  and  minute  in  detail,  and  affords  me  a very 
clear  retrospect  of  my  life  in  those  years ; but  it  will  be  need- 
less to  trouble  the  reader  with  quotations  from  it. 

The  titlepage  of  the  diary  is  a clear  indication  of  my  pur- 
suits. It  is  called  an  “ Account  of  time  spent  in  Literature, 
Art,  Music,  and  Gymnastics.”  The  reader  may  observe  that 
Literature  comes  before  Art,  so  that  if  I am  now  an  author 
rather  than  an  artist,  the  reason  may  be  found  in  early  studies 
and  inclination.  Music  and  gymnastics  were,  in  my  view, 
only  a part  of  general  culture,  yet  of  considerable  importance 
in  their  way. 

As  a scheme  of  self-training,  this  seems  sufficiently  com- 
prehensive, and  to  this  day  I feel  the  good  effects  of  it.  My 
reading  was  not  badly  chosen,  the  drawing  gave  some  initia- 
tion into  art,  and  exercise  developed  physical  activity,  not 
yet  altogether  lost  in  mature  age. 

Still,  the  experienced  reader  will  see  at  a glance  that  this 
was  not  the  training  of  a young  painter  who,  in  a craft  of 
such  great  technical  difficulty  and  in  an  age  of  such  intense 
competition,  must  give  himself  up  more  completely  to  his 
own  special  pursuit. 


8 


114 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


On  the  first  page  of  this  diary  I find  an  entry  about  an 
article  for  the  “ Westminster  Review.”  I offered  two  or  three 
papers  to  the  “Westminster,”  which  were  declined,  and  then 
I wrote  to  the  editor  asking  him  if  he  would  be  so  good  as 
to  explain,  for  my  own  benefit  and  guidance,  what  were  the 
reasons  for  their  rejection.  His  answer  came,  and  was  both 
kind  and  judicious.  “ An  article,”  he  told  me,  “ ought  to  be 
an  organic  whole,  with  a pre-arranged  order  and  proportion 
amongst  its  parts.  There  ought  to  be  a beginning,  a middle, 
and  an  end.”  This  was  a very  good  and  much-needed  lesson, 
for  at  that  time  I had  no  notion  of  a synthetic  ordonnance 
of  parts.  There  was,  no  doubt,  another  reason,  which  the 
editor  omitted  out  of  consideration  for  the  feelings  of  a lit- 
erary aspirant,  who  was  too  young  and  too  insufficiently 
informed  to  write  anything  that  could  interest  readers  of  the 
“ Westminster.” 

I worked  rather  hard  at  writing  English  verse,  and  do  not 
at  the  present  time  regret  a single  hour  of  that  labor.  My 
general  habit  was  to  write  a poem,  sometimes  of  considerable 
length,  and  then  destroy  it;  but  I kept  some  of  these  com- 
positions, which  were  afterwards  published  in  a volume. 
Verse-writing  was  good  for  me  at  that  time  for  a particular 
reason.  I did  not  understand  the  art  of  prose  composition, 
which  is  much  less  obvious  than  that  of  poetry;  but  being 
already  aware  that  verse-writing  was  an  art,  approached  it  in 
the  right  spirit,  which  is  that  of  ungrudging  labor  and  inces- 
sant care.  The  value  or  non-value  of  the  result  has  nothing 
to  do  with  the  matter;  the  essential  point  is  that  verse  was 
to  me  a discipline,  coming  just  at  a time  of  life  when  I had 
much  need  of  a discipline.  Besides,  the  mind  of  a young 
man  is  not  ripe  enough  in  reflection  or  rich  enough  in  knowl- 
edge to  supply  substantial  and  well -nourished  prose;  but  the 
freshness  and  keenness  of  his  feelings  may  often  give  life 
enough  to  a few  stanzas,  if  not  to  a longer  poem. 

It  may  be  objected  to  this  advocacy  of  verse,  that  as  the 
poet’s  gift  is  excessively  rare,  the  probability  is  that  a youth 
who  writes  verse  attacks  an  art  that  he  can  never  master.  No 
doubt  the  highest  degree  of  the  poetic  gift  is  most  rare,  and 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


115 


so,  according  to  Christine  Nilsson,  are  the  gifts  needed  to 
make  a prima  donna , yet  many  a girl  practises  singing  with- 
out hoping  to  be  a Nilsson;  and  there  are  many  poets  in  the 
world  whose  verses  have  melody  and  charm  though  their 
brows  may  never  be  “ cooled  with  laurel.”  The  objection  to 
verse  as  a trifling  occupation  comes  really  from  that  general 
disinclination  to  read  verse  which  excuses  itself  by  the  rarity 
of  genius.  Rossetti,  who  had  genius  in  his  own  person,  was 
always  ready  to  appreciate  good  poetical  work  that  had  no 
fame  to  recommend  it.1 

In  the  way  of  art  at  this  time  I painted  three  portraits  and 
some  landscapes  that  were  merely  studies.  It  is  needless 
to  enumerate  these  attempts,  all  of  no  value,  and  generally 
destroyed  afterwards. 

An  important  event  occurred  on  March  22, 1853.  Being  in 
Manchester,  I bought  the  first  volume  of  Ruskin’s  “ Modern 
Painters.”  In  this  way  I came  under  the  influence  of  Mr. 
Ruskin,  and  remained  under  it,  more  or  less,  for  several 
years.  It  was  a good  influence  in  two  ways,  first  in  litera- 
ture, as  anything  that  Mr.  Ruskin  has  to  say  is  sure  to  he 
well  expressed,  and  after  that  it  was  a good  influence  in 
directing  my  attention  to  certain  qualities  and  beauties  in 
nature;  but  in  art  this  influence  was  not  merely  evil,  it  was 
disastrous.  I was,  however,  at  that  time,  just  the  young  man 
predestined  to  fall  under  it,  being  very  fond  of  reading,  and 
having  a strong  passion  for  natural  beauty.  In  the  course 
of  the  year  1853  I corresponded  with  Mr.  Ruskin  about  my 
studies,  and  I have  no  doubt  of  the  perfect  sincerity  of  his 
advice  and  the  kindness  of  intention  with  which  it  was 
given;  hut  it  tended  directly  to  encourage  the  idea  that  art 
could  be  learned  from  nature,  and  that  is  an  immense  mistake. 
Nature  does  not  teach  art,  or  anything  resembling  it;  she 
only  provides  materials.  Art  is  a product  of  the  human 
mind,  the  slow  growth  of  centuries.  If  you  reject  this  and 

1 Since  the  above  was  written  I have  met  with  an  address  delivered  by 
Mr.  Walter  Besant,  the  novelist,  in  which  he  recommends  the  continuous 
practice  of  versification  as  a discipline  in  the  use  of  language  most  valu- 
able to  writers  of  prose. 


116 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


go  to  nature,  you  have  to  begin  all  over  again,  the  objection 
being  that  one  human  life  is  not  long  enough  for  that. 

As  it  is  possible  that  some  critic  may  say  that  Mr.  Ruskin ’s 
influence  was  not  so  much  opposed  to  the  tradition  of  art  as  I 
am  representing  it  to  be,  and  considering  that  I shall  he  dead 
when  this  is  published,  I quote  the  following  passage  from  a 
memorandum  found  amongst  the  papers  of  Mr.  Leitch,  the 
water-color  painter,  and  printed  in  his  biography : — 

“ I knew  a young  man  of  talent,  ardent  and  energetic,  and 
anxious  to  be  a landscape-painter,  who  went  to  Mr.  Ruskin  and 
asked  his  advice  as  to  what  he  should  do,  what  school  he  should 
follow,  how  he  should  practise,  and  what  master  he  should  put  him- 
self under.  I was  told  that  the  answer  he  got  was  to  this  effect : 
‘ Have  nothing  to  do  with  schools ; put  yourself  under  no  master. 
Both  the  one  and  the  other  are  useless.  As  soon  as  you  can  draw  a 
tree,  or  a tower,  or  a rock,  in  an  ordinary  drawing-master  way, 
that  is  sufficient.  Take  your  materials  then  out  to  nature,  and 
paint  in  her  school.  It  is  the  only  school  I know  of  where  you 
can’t  go  wrong.’  ” 

I had  asked  Mr.  Ruskin  to  recommend  me  some  landscape- 
painter  in  London  with  whom  I could  study  for  six  months. 
His  answer  was : “ There  is  no  artist  in  London  capable  of 
teaching  you  and  at  the  same  time  willing  to  give  lessons.  All 
those  who  teach,  teach  mere  tricks  with  the  brush,  not  true 
art,  far  less  true  nature.”  He  then  recommended  me  to  “go 
to  'William  Turner,  of  Oxford,  not  for  six  months,  but  for 
six  weeks.”  I was  prevented  from  following  this  advice  by 
a technical  difficulty.  Turner  of  Oxford  was  a water-color 
painter.  I had  learned  water-color  with  two  masters,  but  had 
never  liked  it  or  felt  the  slightest  impulse  to  continue  it.  One 
man  is  naturally  constituted  for  one  process,  another  for  another. 
There  is  something  in  my  idiosyncrasy  repugnant  to  the  prac- 
tice of  water-color  and  favorable  to  oil,  and  this  in  spite  of  the 
greater  convenience  of  water-color,  and  the  facility  with  which 
it  may  be  left  off  and  instantaneously  resumed.  In  after-life  I 
learned  water-color  a third  time  with  a very  able  artist,  and  now 
I am  able  to  paint  studies  in  that  medium  from  nature  which 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


117 


are  truthful  enough,  and  people  seem  to  like  them ; but  hither- 
to I have  had  no  enjoyment  whatever  in  the  work.  The 
reader  will  please  understand  that  this  implies  no  want  of 
appreciation  of  the  art  when  it  is  skilfully  practised  by  others. 
There  are  certain  instruments  of  music  that  one  may  listen  to 
with  pleasure  without  having  the  slightest  desire  to  perform 
upon  them. 1 

This  being  so,  the  reader  will  understand  how  I felt  about 
going  to  William  Turner  of  Oxford.  Hour  for  hour,  I would 
as  willingly  have  read  Greek  as  practise  water-color  washes. 
Hot  to  trouble  Mr.  Ruskin,  however,  any  further  with  my  af- 
fairs, I tried  to  induce  several  well-known  oil-painters  to  accept 
me  as  a pupil,  but  always  met  with  the  same  answer,  that  they 
“ did  not  teach.”  It  was  rather  a matter  of  pride  in  those  days 
for  a successful  painter  to  decline  to  give  lessons ; it  proved  him 
to  be  above  the  grade  of  a drawing-master. 

On  March  29,  1853,  a little  event  occurred  which  was  one 
of  the  numerous  causes  that  turned  me  aside  from  the  steady 
practice  of  art.  One  of  our  friends  called  about  the  impending 
establishment  of  the  militia,  and  offered  to  use  his  influence 
with  Colonel  Towneley  to  get  a commission  for  me  in  the  5th 
Royal  Lancashire,  the  regiment  that  was  to  have  its  head- 
quarters at  Burnley.  My  guardian  much  wished  me  to  accept, 
and  I did  so  to  please  her,  as  I had  not  been  able  to  please  her 
by  going  to.  Oxford.  There  was  nothing  in  a military  life,  even 
for  a short  time  every  year,  that  had  the  slightest  attraction 
for  me.  The  notion  of  rendering  a patriotic  service  did  not  oc- 
cur to  me,  for  nobody  in  those  days  looked  upon  the  militia 
seriously.  We  were  only  laughed  at  for  our  pains,  and  we  had 
a great  deal  of  trouble  and  hard  work  in  getting  the  regiment, 
including  ourselves,  into  something  distantly  resembling  mili- 
tary order.,  Before  we  were  called  up  for  training  I got  some 
initiation  with  a line  regiment. 

Our  colonel  was  the  representative  of  a very  old  Catholic 

1 My  estimate  of  the  rank  of  water-color  amongst  the  fine  arts  has 
steadily  risen  as  the  true  technical  relations  of  the  graphic  arts  have  be- 
come clearer  to  me.  Water-color  is  quite  as  great  an  art  as  fresco, 
whilst  it  is  incomparably  more  convenient. 


118 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


family,  the  Towneleys  of  Towneley.  This  family  had  been 
skilful  enough  to  avoid  shipwreck  during  the  contests  that  at- 
tended the  establishment  of  Protestantism  in  England.  It  had 
survived  in  increasing  wealth  and  prosperity,  and  had  now 
reached  the  calm  haven  of  a civilized  age,  with  tolerant  and 
liberal  institutions.  Everything  promised  a long  continuance. 
The  head  of  the  family  had  no  male  heir,  but  his  brother  John, 
who  was  a major  in  our  regiment,  had  one  son,  a cousin  of 
Roger  Tichborne,  and  on  this  son  the  hopes  of  continuance 
rested.  Those  hopes  have  not  been  realized.  The  young  man 
died  in  his  youth;  his  father  and  his  uncle  also  died;  the 
property  is  divided  amongst  three  heiresses,  and  now  for  the 
first  time,  since  surnames  were  invented,  there  is  no  longer  a 
Towneley  of  Towneley. 

The  colonel  was  a man  of  the  kindest  disposition  and  the 
most  gentle  manners,  without  much  confidence  in  himself.  For 
all  regimental  matters  he  trusted  the  adjutant,  Captain  Fenton, 
an  officer  who  had  seen  much  active  service  in  India.  Fenton 
had  by  nature  the  gifts  of  a ruler  of  men.  When  not  on  duty 
he  was  as  gentle  as  a lady,  a pleasant  and  amiable  talker,  but 
on  the  parade-ground  he  ruled  us  all  like  a Napoleon.  He  had 
lost  one  eye ; people  always  believed  in  battle,  but  in  fact,  the 
loss  had  occurred  in  a tennis-court  since  his  return  from  India. 
The  other  eye  seemed  to  have  gained,  in  consequence,  a super- 
natural degree  of  penetration.  It  looked  you  through  ! One 
day,  on  the  parade-ground,  that  eye  glared  at  me  in  such  a 
manner  that  I was  quite  intimidated,  and  said  what  I had  to 
say  in  rather  a low  tone  of  voice.  “ Speak  up,  sir ! can’t  you  ? ” 
thundered  the  adjutant.  “ Mister  Hamerton,  I tell  you  to 
speak  up ! ” 

Fenton  had  an  extremely  pretty  little  bay  horse,  that  had 
been  in  a circus,  so  when  he  rode  past  the  companies  on  parade, 
and  the  band  struck  up,  the  horse  used  to  begin  dancing,  keep- 
ing time  beautifully,  and  indeed  danced  all  the  way  from 
company  to  company.  This  used  to  put  Fenton  out  of  temper, 
and  as  soon  as  ever  military  usages  permitted  it,  he  would  stop 
the  band  with  a gesture,  even  in  the  middle  of  a tune ; in  fact, 
no  matter  at  what  moment.  To  such  of  us  as  had  a musical 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


119 


disposition,  this  was  perhaps  as  difficult  to  bear  as  the  dancing 
of  Fenton’s  horse  could  he  to  him. 1 

During  our  first  training  there  were  not  billets  enough  in 
Burnley  to  lodge  all  our  men,  so  one  company  had  to  be 
sent  to  Padiham,  and  mine  was  selected.  I was  a lieutenant, 
and  had  neither  captain  nor  ensign,  being  quite  alone  as  a com- 
missioned officer,  but  we  possessed  an  excellent  old  sergeant, 
who  had  seen  active  service,  and,  of,  course,  he  taught  me  what 
to  do.  My  " mess  ” consisted  of  a solitary  dinner  in  the  inn 
at  Padiham,  sufficient,  but  not  luxurious.  My  guardian  had 
wished  me  to  go  into  the  militia  to  live  rather  more  with  young 
gentlemen,  and  my  only  society  was  that  of  the  old  sergeant, 
who  punctiliously  observed  the  difference  of  rank.  On  account 
of  the  distance  from  Padiham  to  Burnley  (rather  more  than  three 
miles),  we  were  excused  the  early  parade,  but  went  through  the 
two  others.  The  consequence  was,  that  at  the  end  of  the  train- 
ing, although  we  had  marched  more  than  the  other  companies, 
we  had  had  only  two-thirds  of  their  drill,  and  when  the  grand  in- 
spection by  a general  took  place,  it  was  thought  advisable  to  hide 
my  company  and  another,  that  was  also  weak  in  drill,  though 
for  a different  reason.  Luckily,  there  was  a sort  of  dell  in  the 
parade-ground,  and  we  were  ordered  to  march  down  into  it. 
There  we  stood  patiently  in  line  during  the  whole  time  of  the 
review,  and  the  inspecting  general  never  looked  at  us,  which 
was  what  the  colonel  desired.  Being  destitute  of  military 
ambition,  I was  quite  contented  to  remain  down  in  the  hollow. 
The  most  modest  and  obscure  positions  are  sometimes  the  most 
agreeable. 

We  had  a major  who  had  been  a colonel  in  the  Guards.  It 
was  whispered  that  he  did  not  know  very  much  about  drill, 
having  probably  forgotten  his  acquirements.  One  day,  how- 
ever, he  commanded  the  regiment,  and  I ventured  to  ask  him 
a question.  He  answered  with  a good-humored  smile,  that  the 
commanding  officer  was  like  the  Grand  Llama  of  Thibet,  — he 
could  not  be  approached  directly,  but  only  through  the  adju- 
tant. My  belief  was,  and  is,  that  my  question  puzzled  him, 

1 We  had  a major  who  did  not  much  like  the  band,  and  when  he  could 
stop  it,  he  would  say,  “ Tell  that  band  to  hold  its  tongue.” 


120 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


for  he  was  far  too  good-natured  not  to  have  answered  it  at  once 
if  he  had  been  able.  I told  the  story  to  my  brother  officers, 
who  were  amused  by  the  comparison  with  the  Grand  Llama, 
and  we  sometimes  called  the  major  by  that  high-sounding  title 
afterwards. 

As  a perfectly  inexperienced  young  officer,  without  anybody 
but  an  old,  over-worked  and  used-up  sergeant  to  help  him,  and 
a number  of  drunken  Irishmen  in  the  company  to  vex  and 
trouble  him  by  day  and  by  night,  I had  as  much  to  do  during 
the  first  training  as  could  be  expected  of  a youth  in  my  situa- 
tion. The  last  day  of  the  training  I committed  the  blunder  of 
advancing  small  sums  of  money  to  a number  of  men,  who,  of 
course,  immediately  got  drunk.  My  ignorance  of  popular  man- 
ners and  customs  had  made  me  unable  to  realize  the  lamentable 
fact  that  if  you  pay  five  shillings  to  a man  in  the  improvident 
class  he  will  at  once  invest  it  in  five  shillings’  worth  of  intoxi- 
cation. I was  still  in  Padiham  at  two  in  the  afternoon,  finish- 
ing accounts,  and  I had  to  be  in  Burnley  with  my  men  in  time 
to  get  them  off  by  the  evening  trains.  When  we  started  many 
of  them  were  so  drunk  that  they  could  not  walk,  and  I requisi- 
tioned a number  of  empty  carts,  and  so  got  the  drunken  portion 
of  the  company  to  headquarters.  Then  there  came  the  final 
settlement  of  more  than  eighty  separate  accounts.  Without 
the  adjutant,  Fenton,  I should  never  have  got  through  it.  He 
was  a methodical  man,  who  understood  the  business.  He  got 
a quantity  of  small  change,  piled  it  in  separate  heaps  upon 
a table,  had  each  man  brought  up  before  him,  and  said  authori- 
tatively, “ So  much  is  owing  to  you  — there  it  is  ! ” In  this 
way  we  got  through  the  payments,  and  the  drunken  men  were 
lodged  in  prison  for  the  night. 

I was  glad  to  get  back  to  my  quiet  literary  and  artistic  occu- 
pations, and  my  country  home.  We  had  been  so  busy  during 
our  first  training,  and  I had  been  so  much  separated  from  the 
other  officers  by  my  duty  at  Padiham,  that  so  far  as  society  was 
concerned,  I might  almost  as  well  have  been  on  the  top  of 
Pendle  Hill.  Besides  that,  Englishmen  are  slow  to  associate 
— they  are  shy,  and  they  look  at  each  other  a long  time  before 
getting  really  acquainted. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


121 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

1853. 

A project  for  studying  in  Paris.  — Reading.  — A healthy  life.  — Quinsy. 

— My  most  intimate  friend. 

If  there  is  any  good  in  an  autobiography  it  ought  to  be  as  an 
example  or  a warning  to  others ; so  at  the  risk  of  seeming  to 
moralize,  which,  however,  is  far  from  my  intention,  I will  say 
something  in  this  place  about  my  manner  of  life  in  those 
days. 

First  with  regard  to  art,  it  was  not  my  fault  if  all  the 
painters  I had  applied  to  said  that  they  did  not  take  pupils. 
There  was  a young  gentleman  in  our  neighborhood  who,  though 
a rich  man’s  son,  worked  seriously  at  painting,  and  put  him* 
self  every  year  under  the  direction  of  a French  artist  in  Paris, 
where  he  studied  in  an  atelier.  I had  an  idea  of  joining  him, 
but  my  guardian  (who  with  all  her  sweetness  of  disposition 
could  be  authoritative  when  she  liked)  put  a stop  to  the  project 
by  saying  that  she  refused  her  consent  to  any  plan  involving 
absence  from  England  before  the  expiration  of  my  minority. 
She  had  the  usual  English  idea  that  Paris  is  a more  immoral 
place  than  London.  Perhaps  it  may  be,  but  great  capitals  such 
as  Paris,  London,  and  Vienna  have  this  in  common,  that  you 
may  be  moral  in  them,  or  immoral,  as  you  like;  and  if  we  are 
to  avoid  a town  because  immorality  is  practised  there,  we  must 
avoid  all  the  great  and  most  of  the  smaller  centres  of  intelligence. 

For  the  present  I worked  from  nature,  but  not  with 
sufficient  energy  or  regularity.  I had  not  found  my  path, 
and  was  always  dissatisfied  with  my  studies.  In  literature  my 
reading  was  abundant,  and  included  the  best  English  poets  and 
essayists.  I had  entirely  given  up  reading  Latin  and  Greek  at 
that  time,  and  was  not  just  then  studying  any  modern  lan- 
guage in  their  place.  Young  men  both  over-estimate  and 


122 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


under-estimate  their  own  gifts,  — they  do  not  know  themselves, 
as  indeed  how  should  they  ? I had  an  impression  that  Nature 
had  not  endowed  me  with  a gift  for  languages.  This  impres- 
sion was  not  only  erroneous,  but  the  exact  contrary  of  the  truth, 
for  I am  a born  linguist.  9 

My  life  in  general  was  healthy  and  active.  It  included  a 
great  deal  of  walking  exercise,  sometimes  five  hours  in  a day. 
This,  with  bathing,  kept  me  in  fair  health,  though  I never  had 
what  is  called  robust  health,  that  which  allows  its  possessor  to 
commit  great  imprudences  with  impunity.  I was  once  near 
losing  life  altogether  by  an  odd  result  from  a small  accident. 
My  horse,  which  was  a heavy  and  large  animal,  put  his  foot 
accidentally  on  mine.  The  accident  did  not  prevent  me  from 
riding  out  on  the  moors,  but  when  I got  there  the  pain  became 
so  violent  that  I held  my  foot  in  a cold  rivulet.  During  the 
night  the  pain  returned,  and  then  I foolishly  plunged  the  foot 
into  a cold  bath.  The  result  was  that  the  inflammation  flew  to 
the  throat,  and  I had  a quinsy  which  nearly  carried  me  off.  I 
remember  asking  for  everything  by  writing  on  a slate,  and  the 
intense  longing  I had  for  lemonade. 

My  most  intimate  friend  in  those  days  was  a young  solicitor 
in  Burnley,  a man  of  remarkable  ability  and  naturally  polished 
manners.  His  professional  duties  did  not  leave  him  very  much 
time  for  reading,  but  he  had  a mind  far  above  the  common 
Philistinism  that  cannot  appreciate  literature.  I must  have 
wearied  him  sadly  sometimes  by  reading  my  own  verses,  — 
always  a most  foolish  thing  to  do,  and  at  this  day  quite  re- 
mote from  my  notions  of  an  author’s  dignity.  Handsley  was 
wisely  indifferent  to  literary  fame,  and  never  wrote  anything 
himself  except  his  letters,  which  were  those  of  a clear-headed 
man  of  business.  He  took  upon  himself  great  labors  and  great 
responsibilities,  which  ripened  his  faculties  at  a very  early  age, 
and  he  bore  them  with  uncommon  firmness  and  prudence.  I 
never  met  with  his  superior  in  the  practical  sense  that  seizes 
upon  opportunities,  and  in  the  energy  which  arrives  in  time. 
“ Opportunity  is  kind,  ” said  George  Eliot,  “ but  only  to  the 
industrious.”  Handsley  was  always  one  of  those  to  whom 
Opportunity  is  kind.  If  his  career  had  been  in  Parliament  I 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


123 


am  convinced  that  he  would  have  risen  high.  His  merits  were 
exactly  those  that  are  most  valued  in  an  English  Cabinet  Min- 
ister. At  the  present  time  he  has  under  his  management  some 
of  the  largest  collieries  in  Lancashire,  and  has  been  for  many 
years  one  of  the  most  influential  men  in  the  neighborhood. 


124 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

1853. 

London  again.  — Accurate  habits  in  employment  of  time.  — Studies  with 
Mr.  Pettitt.  — Some  account  of  my  new  master.  — His  method  of 
technical  teaching.  — Simplicity  of  his  philosophy  of  art.  — Incidents 
of  his  life.  — Rapid  progress  under  Pettitt’s  direction. 

On  August  8,  1853,  the  writer  of  this  book,  who  had  promised 
and  vowed  never  to  visit  London  again,  went  there  to  see  the 
Royal  Academy  Exhibition,  and  of  course  found  it  closed.  If 
any  one  could  have  seen  me  before  the  closed  doors,  knowing 
that  I had  come  all  the  way  from  Lancashire  in  the  expectation 
of  finding  them  open,  he  might  have  derived  some  innocent 
mirth  from  my  disappointment. 

The  Royal  Academy  being  no  longer  accessible,  I turned  into 
the  National  Gallery,  and  at  once  began  to  take  notes  in  a 
pocket-book.  This  seems  to  have  been  my  habit  at  that  time. 
I took  notes  about  everything  — abou  painting,  architecture, 
and  even  the  Royal  Mews.  The  notes  are  copious  and  wordy. 
Though  destitute  of  literary  merit,  they  certainly  serve  their 
purpose,  for  they  recall  things  vividly  enough,  even  in  detail. 
Nothing  of  any  importance  is  omitted. 

Although  notes  of  that  kind  are  unreadable,  they  are  very 
useful  afterwards  for  reference,  and  my  time  could  scarcely 
have  been  better  spent.  I find  I gave  five  hundred  words  to 
the  description  of  Turner’s  “ Building  of  Carthage,  ” and  other 
pictures  are  treated  with  equal  liberality.  I carried  the  same 
laborious  system  of  note-making  even  into  exhibitions.  In 
later  life  one  learns  the  art  of  doing  such  work  more  briefly. 

Having  purchased  a few  prints  for  study,  I returned  to 
Lancashire  and  resumed  my  strict  division  of  time.  Four 
hours  a day  were  given  to  practical  drawing,  but  not  invaria- 
bly the  entry  is  sometimes  three  or  two  only.  When  art  lost 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY . 


125 


an  hour,  literature  gained  it,  either  in  study  or  practical  writ- 
ing. I was  curiously  accurate  in  my  accounts  of  time,  and 
knew  to  half-an-hour  what  was  spent  on  this  pursuit  or  that. 
Here  is  an  extract  in  evidence  of  this  tendency : — 

“ Thursday,  August  13,  1853.  Determined  to-day  to  study  the 
copper  Albert  Diirer  80  hours,  having  given  83  to  the  wood-cuts. 
I have  already  given  the  copper  10£  hours,  so  that  I have  69£  to 
devote  to  it  yet.  I shall  also  give  40  hours  to  Kreutzer’s  violin 
studies,  and  have  already  practised  them  24,  which  leaves  16.  I 
shall  now  commence  a course  of  poetical  reading,  beginning  with 
50  hours  of  Chaucer,  and  as  I gave  him  1|  last  night  it  leaves  me 
exactly  48£.” 

This  is  carrying  exactness  to  excess,  and  it  is  not  given  as 
an  example  to  be  followed,  but  it  had  the  advantage  of  letting 
me  know  how  my  time  expenditure  was  running.  In  this 
way  it  became  clear  that  if  I intended  to  be  an  artist  the 
time  given  to  practical  work  was  insufficient.  As  no  painter  of 
eminence  would  take  a pupil  I bethought  me  of  Mr.  Pettitt, 
who  had  given  me  lessons  at  Keswick.  He  consented  to  take 
me,  but  said  that  he  had  left  the  north  of  England  for  London. 
In  the  Lake  District  he  had  been  earning  a small  income ; in 
London  he  earned  twice  as  much,  but  his  expenses  increased 
in  proportion.  The  change,  however,  was  a disappointment 
to  me,  as  it  would  have  been  more  profitable  to  study  from 
nature  under  my  master’s  direction,  than  to  copy  pictures  in  a 
London  studio. 

My  new  London  life  began  at  the  end  of  December,  1853. 
It  has  always  been,  in  my  case,  an  effort  little  short  of  heroic 
to  go  and  stay  in  a town  at  all.  My  dislike  to  towns  increases 
in  exact  mathematical  proportion  to  their  size.  The  notion  of 
going  to  London  to  study  landscape-painting  seemed  against 
nature.  The  negotiations  with  Mr.  Pettitt  had  been  begun 
with  the  hope  of  a return  to  Derwentwater. 

However,  one  dark  and  drizzly  evening  in  December  I 
found  myself  seeking  the  number  my  new  master  had  given 
me,  in  Percy  Street.  He  was  not  there,  that  was  his  studio 
only;  the  house  was  in  the  suburbs.  We  met  on  the  follow- 


126 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


ing  morning  in  the  studio,  where  stood  an  enormous  picture  of 
Nebuchadnezzar  and  the  Golden  Image.  This  was  conceived 
on  the  principles  of  John  Martin,  with  prodigious  perspec- 
tives of  impossible  architecture,  and  the  price  was  a thousand 
pounds.  The  labor  involved  was  endless,  but  the  whole 
enterprise  was  vain  and  futile  from  beginning  to  end.  Pettitt 
could  work  honestly  and  laboriously  from  nature,  — indeed,  he 
never  stinted  labor  in  anything,  — but  such  a large  undertaking 
as  this  piece  of  mingled  archaeology  and  art  was  alike  beyond 
his  knowledge  and  outside  the  range  of  his  imagination.  He 
was  not  to  blame,  except  for  an  error  of  judgment.  The 
demand  for  his  work  was  feeble  and  uncertain,  so  he  thought 
it  necessary  to  attract  attention  by  a sensation  picture.  To 
finish  the  history  of  this  work  without  recurring  to  it,  I have 
only  to  add  that  it  proved  in  all  ways,  financially  and  other- 
wise, a failure. 

Mr.  Pettitt  was  a most  devoted  student  of  nature,  and  his 
best  pictures  had  the  character  of  faithful  studies.  He  would 
sit  down  in  some  rocky  dell  by  the  side  of  a stream  in  Wales, 
and  paint  rocks  and  trees  month  after  month  with  indefati- 
gable perseverance;  but  he  had  no  education,  either  literary  or 
artistic,  and  very  little  imaginative  power.  His  only  safety 
was  in  that  work  from  nature,  and  he  would  have  stuck  to  it 
most  resolutely  had  there  been  any  regularity  in  the  encour- 
agement he  received ; but  his  income,  like  that  of  all  painters 
who  are  not  celebrated,  was  very  uncertain,  and  he  could 
not  quietly  settle  down  to  the  tranquil  studies  that  he  loved. 
Anxiety  had  made  him  imprudent;  it  had  driven  him  to  try 
for  notoriety.  The  Nebuchadnezzar  picture,  and  other  mis- 
takes of  a like  magnitude,  were  the  struggles  of  a disquieted 
mind.  Pettitt  had  a very  large  family  to  maintain,  and  did 
nothing  but  paint,  paint  from  morning  till  night,  except  for 
half-an-hour  after  his  light  lunch,  when  he  read  the  “ Times.” 
As  the  great  picture  did  not  advance  very  rapidly,  he  worked 
by  gaslight  after  the  short  London  winter  day,  and  often 
pursued  his  terrible  task  till  the  early  hours  of  the  morning, 
when  exhausted  nature  could  resist  no  longer,  and  he  fell 
asleep  on  a little  iron  bed  in  the  studio.  There  were  days 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


127 


when  he  told  me  he  had  worked  twenty  hours  out  of  the 
twenty-four.  All  this  was  a perfectly  gratuitous  expenditure 
of  time  and  health  that  could  not  possibly  lead  to  any  advan- 
tage whatever. 

Pettitt  was  a very  kind  and  attentive  teacher,  and  his 
method  was  this : He  would  begin  a picture  in  my  presence, 
give  me  two  white  canvases  exactly  the  same  size,  and  then 
tell  me  to  copy  his  hour’s  work  twice  over.  Whilst  he 
painted  I watched;  whilst  I painted  he  did  not  look  over  me, 
but  went  on  with  his  own  work.  He  was  always  ready  to 
answer  any  question  and  to  help  me  over  any  difficulty.  In 
this  way  he  soon  initiated  me  into  the  processes  of  oil- 
painting  so  far  as  I required  any  initiation,  for  most  of  them 
were  familiar  to  me  already.  Unfortunately,  Pettitt  had  no 
conception  of  art.  This  needs  a short  explanation,  as  the 
reader  may  allowably  ask  how  a man  without  any  conception 
of  art  could  be  even  a moderately  successful  artist. 

The  answer  is  that  men  like  Mr.  Pettitt  regard  painting 
simply  as  a representation  of  nature,  and  their  pictures  are 
really  nothing  hut  large  and  laborious  studies.  Pettitt  was  a 
most  sincere  lover  of  nature,  hut  that  was  all ; he  knew  little 
or  nothing  of  those  necessities  and  conditions  that  make  art  a 
different  thing  from  nature.  The  tendency  of  his  teaching 
was,  therefore,  to  lead  me  to  nature  instead  of  leading  me  to 
art,  and  this  was  a great  misfortune  for  me,  as  my  instincts 
were  only  too  much  in  the  same  direction  already.  I could 
get  nature  in  the  country,  and  that  in  endless  abundance ; what 
I needed  at  that  time  was  some  guidance  into  the  realm  of  art. 

Pettitt  taught  me  to  draw  in  a hard,  clear,  scientific  manner. 
He  himself  knew  a little  geology,  and  one  of  his  sons  was  a 
well-informed  geologist.  I copied  studies  of  cliffs  that  were 
entirely  conceived  and  executed  in  the  scientific  spirit. 

The  ideas  of  artistic  synthesis,  of  seeing  a subject  as  a 
whole,  of  subordination  of  parts,  of  concentration  of  vision, 
of  obtaining  results  by  opposition  in  form,  light  and  shade, 
and  color,  all  those  ideas  were  foreign  to  my  master’s  simple 
philosophy  of  art.  In  his  view  the  artist  had  nothing  to  do 
but  sit  down  to  a natural  subject  and  copy  with  the  utmost 


128 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


diligence  what  was  before  him,  first  one  part  and  then  another, 
till  the  whole  was  done.  My  master,  therefore,  only  con- 
firmed me  in  my  own  tendencies,  which  were  to  turn  my  back 
on  art  and  go  to  nature  as  the  sole  authority.  Mr.  Kuskin’s 
influence  had  impelled  me  in  the  same  direction.  Every  one 
is  the  product  of  his  time  and  of  his  teachers.  It  is  not  my 
fault  if  the  essentially  artistic  elements  in  art  were  hidden 
from  me  in  my  youth.  Had  I perceived  them  at  that  time 
they  would  only  have  seemed  a kind  of  dishonesty. 

If  Mr.  Pettitt  had  written  an  autobiography  it  would  have 
been  extremely  interesting.  He  was  the  twenty-fifth  child 
of  his  father,  and  five  were  born  after  him.  He  began  by 
being  apprenticed  to  a cabinet-maker,  but  did  not  take  to  the 
work,  and  was  put  into  a printing-office.  Then  he  served 
an  apprenticeship  to  a japanner,  and  married  very  early  on 
incredibly  small  earnings,  which,  however,  he  increased  by 
his  rapidity  in  work  and  his  incessant  industry.  Before  the 
expiration  of  his  apprenticeship  he  had  a shop  of  his  own, 
and  sold  japanned  tea-trays  and  bellows.  When  he  was  able 
to  rent  a house,  he  made  all  the  furniture  with  his  own 
hands,  and  took  a pride  in  having  it  very  good,  either  solid 
mahogany  or  veneered.  He  saved  money  in  the  japanning 
business,  and  then  on  these  savings  undertook  to  teach  him- 
self painting.  His  earliest  works  were  sold  for  anything 
they  would  fetch.  Whilst  I was  in  London  he  recognized 
one  of  them,  a small  picture  that  he  immediately  bought  back 
for  sixpence.  There  had  been  a fall  in  its  market  value, 
alas!  for  the  original  price  was  ninepence.  Pettitt  had  a 
fancy  for  collecting  his  early  daubs,  as  they  confirmed  his 
sense  of  progress.  Having  acquired  some  knowledge  of  paint- 
ing, he  engaged  himself  on  weekly  wages  as  a decorator  of 
steamboat  panels.  His  employers  wanted  quantity  rather 
than  finish,  but  Pettitt  liked  to  finish  as  well  as  he  could, 
and  recommended  his  fellow-workmen  to  study  from  nature. 
This  led  to  his  dismissal. 

During  the  time  of  his  poverty,  Pettitt  made  an  excursion 
into  France,  and  being  at  Paris  with  a companion  as  penni- 
less as  himself,  he  had  to  devise  means  for  reaching  England 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


129 


without  money.  The  pair  had  nothing  of  any  value  but  a 
flute,  and  the  flute  had  silver  keys,  so  it  was  a precious  article. 
With  the  proceeds  in  their  pockets  the  friends  tramped  to 
Boulogne  on  foot,  and  there  the}"  arrived  in  the  last  stage 
of  poverty.  They  cleaned  themselves  as  well  as  they  could 
before  showing  their  faces  at  the  hotel  they  had  patronized 
when  richer,  and  there  they  stayed  for  some  days  in  the  hope 
of  a remittance  from  an  uncle.  That  relative  was  of  opinion 
that  a little  hardship  would  surely  bring  the  travellers  back 
to  England,  and  so  he  sent  them  nothing.  What  was  to  be 
done  ? They  avowed  the  whole  case  to  the  hotel-keeper,  who 
not  only  made  no  attempt  to  detain  them,  but  filled  their 
empty  purses.  The  story  concludes  prettily,  for  the  obdu- 
rate uncle  relented  on  their  arrival,  and  at  once  repaid  the 
Erenchman. 

Pettitt  long  preceded  Mr.  Louis  Stevenson  in  the  idea  of 
travelling  in  France  with  a donkey.  He,  too,  explored  some 
mountainous  districts  in  the  centre  or  south  of  France  with  a 
donkey  to  carry  his  luggage,  and  the  two  companions  slept 
out  at  nights,  as  Mr.  Stevenson  did  afterwards.  At  last  Pettitt 
met  with  an  old  woman  whose  lot  seemed  to  him  particularly 
hard.  She  had  to  walk  from  a hill-village  down  to  the  valley 
every  day,  nearly  twenty  miles  going  and  returning;  so  Pettitt 
made  her  a present  of  his  donkey,  and  she  prayed  for  him  most 
fervently. 

Another  of  my  master’s  pedestrian  rambles  extended  for 
fifteen  hundred  miles  along  the  coast  of  Great  Britain.  Dur- 
ing this  excursion  he  accumulated  a vast  quantity  of  sketches, 
truthful  memoranda,  almost  as  accurate  as  the  photographs 
which  have  now  superseded  studies  of  that  kind. 

Pettitt  had  made  astonishing  progress  considering  the 
humble  position  he  started  from;  but  unfortunately  for  me 
he  was  not  a man  of  culture,  even  in  art.  One  of  his  friends, 
a journalist,  who  often  called  at  the  studio,  and  who  saw  a 
little  deeper  than  most  people,  said  to  me  one  day  that  the  art 
of  painting,  as  practised  by  many  fairly  successful  men  (and 
he  referred  tacitly  to  my  master),  might  be  most  accurately 
described  as  “ a high-class  industry.  ” 

9 


130 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


For  my  part  I worked  very  steadily  when  in  London,  and 
made  rapid  progress.  It  was  not  quite  in  the  right  direction, 
unfortunately. 

No  reader  of  these  pages  will  be  able  to  imagine  what  a 
sacrifice  that  stay  in  London  was  for  me.  The  studio  was 
never  cleaned,  and  very  badly  ventilated.  My  master  did 
not  perceive  this  amidst  the  clouds  of  his  own  tobacco  smoke, 
hut  for  me,  who  had  come  from  perfect  cleanliness  and  the 
pure  air  of  our  northern  hills,  it  was  almost  unbearable. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


131 


CHAPTER  XX. 

1853-1854. 

Acquaintance  with  R.  W.  Mackay.  — His  learning  and  accomplishments. 
— His  principal  pursuit.  — His  qualities  as  a writer.  — Value  of  the 
artistic  element  in  literature.  — C.  R.  Leslie,  R.  A.  — Robinson  the  line- 
engraver.  — The  Constable  family.  — Mistaken  admiration  for  minute 
detail.  — Projected  journey  to  Egypt.  — Mr.  Ruskin.  — Bonomi.  — 
Samuel  Sharpe. — Tennyson. 

My  lodgings  were  at  Maida  Hill,  and  I soon  became  person- 
ally acquainted  with  a writer  whom  I knew  already  by  corre- 
spondence, Mr.  R.  W.  Mackay,  author  of  “ The  Progress  of 
the  Intellect.  ” 

Mr.  Mackay  was  for  many  years  a kind  friend  of  mine. 
An  incident  occurred  long  afterwards  which  put  an  end  to  this 
friendship.  I made  some  reference  to  him  in  a review  that 
was  not  intended  to  be  unkind  or  depreciatory  in  any  way,  as 
I always  felt  a deep  respect  for  Mr.  Mackay,  but  unhappily 
he  saw  it  in  another  light,  and  so  it  ended  our  intercourse. 
In  1853,  and  for  long  afterwards,  there  was  nothing  to  fore- 
shadow a rupture  of  this  kind,  and  I am  still  able  to  write  of 
my  old  friend  as  if  he  had  always  remained  so. 

Mr.  Mackay  was  primarily  a scholar  and  secondarily  an 
artist.  He  had  been  educated  at  Cambridge,  and  being  gifted 
with  an  extraordinary  memory,  he  accumulated  learning  in 
very  abundant  stores.  As  to  his  memory , it  is  said  that  he 
once  accepted  a challenge  to  recite  a thousand  lines  of  Virgil, 
and  did  it  without  error.  He  had  a good  practical  knowl- 
edge of  French  and  German.  He  possessed  a large  collection 
of  water-color  sketches  made  during  his  travels  in  Italy  and 
elsewhere,  work  of  a kind  that  an  amateur  might  judiciously 
practise,  as  there  was  no  false  finish  about  them.  They 
recalled  scenes  that  had  interested  him  either  by  their  natural 


132 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


beauty,  which  he  appreciated,  or  by  association  with  classical 
literature. 

I hardly  like  to  use  the  word  “gentleman,”  because  it  is 
employed  in  so  many  different  senses,  but  I never  knew  any- 
body who  realized  my  conception  of  that  ideal  more  perfectly 
than  Mr.  Mackay.  In  him,  as  Prince  Leopold  said  of  another, 
all  culture  and  all  refinement  met.  He  was  extremely  simple 
in  all  his  ways,  and  averse  to  every  kind  of  vanity  and  osten- 
tation. He  had  a sufficient  fortune  for  a refined  life,  and  did 
not  care  for  any  kind  of  wasteful  extravagance.  All  belong- 
ing to  him  was  simple  and  in  good  taste.  He  did  not  see 
very  much  society;  that  which  he  did  see  included  several 
men  and  women  of  distinguished  ability. 

Mr.  Mackay’s  chief  pursuit  was  one  to  which  I would 
never  have  devoted  laborious  years  — theology  on  the  nega- 
tive side.  His  idea  was  that  the  liberation  of  thought  could 
only  be  accomplished  by  going  painfully  over  the  whole  theo- 
logical ground  and  explaining  every  belief  and  phase  of  belief 
historically  and  rationally.  My  opinion  was,  and  is,  that  all 
this  trouble  is  superfluous.  The  true  liberation  must  come 
from  the  enlargement  of  the  mind  by  wider  and  more  accu- 
rate views  of  the  natural  universe.  As  this  takes  place,  the 
mediaeval  beliefs  must  drop  away  of  themselves,  and  we  now 
see  that  this  process  is  actually  in  operation.  So  far  from 
devoting  a life  to  the  refutation  of  theological  error,  I would 
not  bestow  upon  such  an  unnecessary  and  thankless  toil  the 
labor  of  a week  or  a day. 

The  habit  of  study  and  reflection  had  done  Mr.  Mackay 
some  harm  in  one  respect;  it  had  withdrawn  him  too  much 
from  commonplace  reality.  He  always  seemed  to  be  moving 
in  a dream,  and  to  recall  himself  to  the  actual  world  by  an 
effort.  This  is  a result  of  excessive  culture  that  I have  ob- 
served in  other  cases.  My  conclusion  is  that  all  the  culture  in 
the  world,  all  the  learning,  all  the  literary  skill  and  taste  put 
together,  are  not  so  well  worth  having  as  the  keen  and  clear 
sense  of  present  reality  that  common  folks  have  by  nature. 

Mr.  Mackay  was  a laborious  and  careful  writer,  and  he  had 
a good  style  of  its  kind,  though  it  was  more  remarkable  for 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


133 


strength  and  soundness  than  for  vivacity  and  ease.  It  was 
too  much  of  one  texture  to  be  attractive,  and  so  he  never 
became  a popular  author.  Of  course  the  heterodoxy  of  Mr. 
Mackay’s  opinions  was  one  great  cause  of  his  failure  to  catch 
the  public  ear  in  England,  but  even  that  difficulty  can  be  got 
over  by  a great  literary  artist.  He  tried  to  do  his  best,  as 
to  literary  form,  but  he  never  condescended  to  write  for  the 
market  in  any  way,  and  used  to  maintain  that  if  a book  was 
to  be  profitable  it  must  be  written  for  the  market. 

I do  not  quite  agree  with  this  opinion.  I should  say, 
rather,  that  literature  resembles  painting  in  being  one  of  the 
fine  arts,  and  that  when  a book,  like  a picture,  is  a fine  work 
of  art,  it  has  a great  chance  of  being  a commercial  success. 
Henan’s  books  have  been  very  successful  literary  speculations, 
because  Henan  is  a first-rate  artist.  Mackay  would  have 
been  a better  artist  in  literature  if  he  had  not  been  so  much 
overpowered  by  the  immense  masses  of  his  materials. 

Amongst  the  new  friends  I gained  at  Mr.  Mackay’s  house 
was  C.  H.  Leslie,  the  painter.  I was  charmed  with  him  from 
the  first,  and  retain  to  this  day  the  liveliest  recollection  of 
his  exquisitely  urbane  manners,  and  even  of  the  tones  of 
his  voice.  Leslie  was  a man  of  unquestionable  genius,  but 
entirely  free  from  the  tendency  to  despise  other  people,  which 
so  often  accompanies  genius.  On  first  meeting  with  him 
I took  him  for  a clergyman,  and  told  him  of  it  later.  He 
felt  rather  flattered  than  otherwise  by  the  mistake,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  that  his  modest  nature  would  at  once  refer  to 
points  on  which  the  average  clergyman  would  probably  be  his 
superior.  Some  artists  are  lost  in  admiration  of  their  own 
works,  so  that  the  way  to  please  them  is  to  praise  what  they 
have  done  themselves;  but  the  way  to  please  Leslie  was  to 
praise  what  Constable  had  done.  His  admiration  for  Consta- 
ble was  quite  as  strong  a passion  as  Mr.  Huskin’s  admiration 
of  Turner,  though  it  did  not  express  itself  in  such  perfervid 
language.  I might  at  that  time  have  become  Constable’s 
pupil,  indirectly.  Leslie  would  have  educated  me  in  the 
art  of  that  master.  I had  nothing  to  do  but  work  by  myself, 
copying  studies  and  pictures  by  Constable  in  a studio  of  my 


134 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY . 


own  within  a short  distance  of  Leslie’s  house,  and  he  would 
have  come  to  me  often  to  advise.  Robinson,  the  eminent 
line-engraver,  strongly  urged  me  to  put  myself  under  Leslie’s 
direction,  and  this,  I believe,  was  the  Academician’s  kind, 
indirect  way  of  offering  it.  On  the  other  hand,  I did  not 
wish  to  hurt  Pettitt  by  leaving  him,  and  Constable’s  choice 
of  quiet  rural  subjects  was  to  me,  at  that  time,  uninteresting. 
I disliked  tame  scenery,  not  having  as  yet  the  artistic  percep- 
tions which  are  needed  for  the  appreciation  of  it. 

Leslie  introduced  me  to  Constable’s  family,  who  were  very 
kind,  and  they  showed  me  all  the  sketches  of  his  that 
remained  in  their  possession.  My  love  for  precise  and  defi- 
nite drawing  made  me  unable  to  see  the  real  merits  of  those 
studies,  though  I was  not  much  mistaken  in  thinking  that 
drawing  of  the  quality  I then  cared  for  was  not  to  be  found 
in  them.  Constable  was  essentially  what  the  French  under- 
stand by  the  word  paysagiste  ; that  is,  an  artist  who  studies 
the  every-day  aspects  of  common  nature  broadly.  He  would 
have  done  me  much  good  at  that  time,  if  I had  felt  interested 
in  him,  but  the  lover  of  the  Western  Highlands  could  not 
bring  himself  to  care  for  the  fields  and  hedgerows  about 
Flatford.  Pettitt,  at  any  rate,  loved  our  Lake  District  and 
Wales.  Again,  though  I had  a hearty  and  just  admiration  for 
Leslie’s  unrivalled  power  of  painting  expression  in  the  faces 
of  ladies  and  gentlemen  in  drawing-rooms,  I had  never  seen 
any  landscape  by  him  except  tame  backgrounds,  which  seemed 
to  me  quite  secondary,  as  they  were. 

I had  at  that  time  a mistaken  belief  (derived  originally 
from  Mr.  Ruskin  and  confirmed  by  Mr.  Pettitt)  that  there  was 
something  essentially  meritorious  in  bestowing  great  labor 
on  a work  of  art.  It  is  well  for  an  artist  to  be  habitually 
industrious,  because  that  increases  his  skill,  but  it  is  a matter 
of  indifference  whether  this  or  that  picture  has  cost  much  or 
little  labor,  provided  that  the  artist  has  clearly  expressed 
what  he  desired.  Mr.  Robinson,  the  line-engraver,  gave  me 
a good  lesson  on  this  subject.  We  were  looking  at  a draw- 
ing by  Millais  in  Indian  ink  which  was  penned  all  over  in 
minute  hatchings.  I was  full  of  admiration  for  the  industry 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY . 


135 


of  the  artist,  but  Eobinson  thought  it  labor  thrown  away.  I 
met  Mr.  Euskin  personally  one  evening,  and  we  examined  a 
water-color  by  John  Lewis  which  was  on  a table-desk.  The 
drawing  was  fortunately  glazed,  for  as  Mr.  Euskin  was  hold- 
ing the  candle  over  it  the  composite  dropped  on  the  glass. 
He  pointed  out  the  minute  beauties  of  a camel’s  eye,  which 
was  painted  so  carefully  that  even  the  hairs  of  the  eyelash 
were  given,  and  the  reflections  on  the  mirror  of  the  eye. 
This  praise  of  minute  detail  was  at  that  time  only  too  much 
in  accordance  with  my  own  taste.  I had  an  intense  admira- 
tion for  such  feats  of  skilled  industry  as  the  wonderful  lattices 
that  Lewis  used  to  paint  with  the  eastern  sunshine  streaming 
through  them  on  a variety  of  different  surfaces.  I met  J ohn 
Lewis  himself.  He  was  a fine-looking  man,  with  a beard 
which  at  that  time  was  of  the  purest  silvery  white.  I after- 
wards had  the  advantage  of  a little  correspondence  with  Lewis. 
He  wrote  well,  and  expressed  his  opinions  about  art-work 
very  clearly  in  his  letters.  They  amounted  chiefly  to  this: 
Work  always  as  much  from  nature  as  possible,  and  give  all 
the  care  you  can. 

At  that  time  I had  a settled  scheme  for  going  to  travel  and 
work  in  Egypt,  and  it  would  have  been  better  for  me  than 
Scotland  on  account  of  the  greater  sameness  of  the  effects. 
I mentioned  this  project  to  Mr.  Euskin,  who  said  that  he 
avoided  travelling  in  countries  where  he  could  not  be  sure 
of  ordinary  comforts,  such  as  a white  table-cloth  and  a clean 
knife  and  fork;  still,  he  would  put  up  with  a great  deal  of 
inconvenience  to  be  near  a mountain.  Talking  of  Turner’s 
paintings  in  comparison  with  his  water-colors,  he  said  he 
would  rather  have  half  the  drawings  than  all  the  oil  pictures. 
He  compared  a drawing  of  Nemi  with  an  oil  picture  that  we 
could  see  at  the  same  time,  two  works  almost  of  the  same 
date,  and  gave  reasons  for  preferring  the  water-color. 

My  Egyptian  scheme  brought  me  into  relations  with 
Bonomi,  who  at  that  time  was  a famous  traveller.  Bartlett, 
the  artist- traveller,  whose  works  had  been  very  widely  spread 
abroad  by  engraving,  told  me  that  when  he  was  ill  of  a fever  at 
Baalbec  he  was  nursed  by  a sheik  who  wore  a beard  and  rode 


136 


A UTOBIO  GRAPHY. 


an  Arab  horse.  This  sheik  spoke  English,  and  was,  in  fact, 
Bonomi,  who  had  adopted  the  manners  of  the  wandering 
Arabs,  and  would  have  remained  amongst  them  if  his  English 
friends  had  not  persuaded  him  to  return. 

Bonomi  was  one  of  the  liveliest  little  men  I ever  met.  I 
feel  almost  guilty  of  a fraud  with  regard  to  him,  for  his  amia- 
bility towards  me  was  due  in  great  part  to  his  belief  of  my 
statement  that  I was  going  to  Egypt;  yet  I never  went  there, 
and  shall  certainly  not  go  now.  My  only  excuse  is  that  I 
sincerely  believed  the  same  statement  myself.  He  said  that 
the  effects  of  color  and  light  in  Egypt  at  morning  and  evening 
were  perfectly  inconceivable.  He  recommended  me  to  travel, 
not  on  the  Nile  itself,  but  on  the  bank  with  camels,  as  that 
gave  a greatly  superior  view,  both  of  the  country  and  the 
river. 

Mr.  Samuel  Sharpe  was  a charming,  straightforward  old 
gentleman,  who  said  what  he  thought,  without  any  feeble 
concession  to  other  people’s  opinions.  He  did  not  share  the 
prevalent  enthusiasm  for  Turner,  which  was  of  course  in  great 
part  factitious,  as  many  of  the  people  who  praised  Turner  so 
warmly  then  had  laughed  at  his  pictures  a few  years  before. 
Mr.  Sharpe  thought  that  Turner  was  an  unsafe  guide  for  a 
young  landscape-painter  to  imitate.  It  is  remarkable,  as  a mat- 
ter of  fact,  how  little  practical  influence  Turner  has  had  upon 
the  progress  of  landscape  art.  Another  and  a stronger  proof  of 
the  independence  of  Mr.  Sharpe’s  judgment  was  his  opinion 
about  England  and  Russia.  He  did  not  think  it  necessary  to 
oppose  Russia’s  progress  towards  Constantinople  by  force,  but 
thought  there  was  room  enough  for  the  two  empires  with- 
out collision.  If  Mr.  Sharpe’s  opinion  had  prevailed,  there 
would  have  been  no  Crimean  War,  but  he  and  those  who 
thought  with  him  were  very  much  isolated  at  that  time. 

I met  at  his  house  a cousin  of  Miss  Martineau,  who  told 
us  some  good  stories,  especially  about  Tennyson.  On  this  a 
brother  of  our  host  said  that  he  was  once  travelling  when  he 
met  with  a party  of  tourists,  among  whom  he  recognized  the 
Laureate.  “ Who  is  that  gentleman  ? ” said  they.  “ He  has 
been  the  life  and  soul  of  our  party,  and  we  cannot  get  a clue 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


137 


to  his  name,  for  he  has  baffled  us  in  every  way,  tearing  it 
off  his  luggage  and  out  of  the  book  he  was  reading.”  Mr. 
Sharpe  betrayed  the  secret,  not  much  to  the  Laureate’s  satis- 
faction. When  travelling  in  Scotland  some  time  afterwards 
I myself  met  with  Tennyson,  so  a tourist  kindly  explained 
who  he  was  in  these  words:  M That ’s  Alfred  Tennyson,  the 
American  poet.  ” 

Such  is  fame! 


138 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY . 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

1854. 

A visit  to  Rogers.  — His  home.  — Geniality  in  poets.  — Talfourd.  — Sir 
Walter  Scott. — Leslie’s  picture,  “The  Rape  of  the  Lock.” — George 
Leslie.  — Robert  Leslie.  — His  nautical  instincts.  — Watkiss  Lloyd.  — 
Landseer.  — Harding.  — Richard  Doyle. 

Mr.  Leslie  took  me  one  afternoon  to  see  old  Mr.  Rogers, 
the  poet.  When  we  arrived  he  was  out  for  a drive,  so  we 
quietly  examined  the  works  of  art  in  the  house  until  his 
return. 

The  interest  of  that  house  was  quite  peculiar  to  itself. 
Even  the  arrangement  of  the  furniture  had  been  unaltered 
for  years,  and  as  the  rooms,  just  as  we  saw  them,  had  been 
visited  by  most  people  of  note  during  nearly  two  generations, 
they  had  an  interest  from  association  with  famous  names  that 
could  not  be  rivalled,  at  that  time,  by  any  other  rooms  in 
London.  The  dining-room,  for  example,  was  exactly  in  the 
same  state  as  when  Byron  dined  there,  and  would  eat  nothing 
hut  a biscuit.  Leslie  said:  “I  have  seen  Mrs.  Siddons  sit- 
ting on  the  corner  of  that  sofa  near  the  fire,  and  Walter  Scott 
walk  up  to  her  and  shake  hands.”  Leslie  mentioned  many 
other  celebrities,  but  none  of  them  were  so  interesting  to  me 
as  the  authors  of  “ Waverley  ” and  “ Childe  Harold.” 

Many  of  the  material  objects  about  us  had  a history  of 
their  own.  A stand  that  carried  an  antique  vase  had  been 
carved  by  Chantrey  when  a young  unknown  furniture-carver, 
and  so  had  the  sideboard,  as  Chantrey  reminded  Mr.  Rogers 
long  afterwards,  when  he  was  received  as  a guest  in  the  same 
room.  The  fender,  chimney-piece,  and  ceiling  had  been  de- 
signed by  Flaxman,  the  panels  of  a cabinet  had  been  painted 
by  Stothard. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


139 


We  went  upstairs  to  see  some  pictures  in  Rogers’  bed- 
room, in  itself  a very  simple,  homely  place,  with  the  old 
man’s  flannels  warming  before  the  fire.  The  picture  in  that 
room  which  pleased  me  most  was  a subject  borrowed  from 
Raphael , by  Leslie,  — a lady  teaching  her  boy  to  read,  — but  it 
was  treated  freely  by  Leslie  from  other  models.  The  boy  was 
his  son  George  (the  future  Academician)  when  young;  he  had 
already  begun  to  be  good-looking. 

As  we  were  examining  this  picture,  Mr.  Rogers  returned 
from  his  drive  and  received  us  in  the  dining-room.  He  said, 
“Mr.  Hamerton,  I think  I’ve  seen  you  before,”  but  I said 
he  was  mistaken,  so  he  held  out  his  hand  and  went  on: 
“Well  then,  I’m  very  glad  to  see  you  now,  especially  so 
well  introduced.  Have  you  been  all  over  the  house  ? You 
have  the  honor  of  knowing  a very  distinguished  artist.  Look 
at  that  picture  on  the  sideboard,  of  the  poor  babes  in  the 
Tower!  Don’t  you  like  it?  I think  it  is  beautiful,  beau- 
tiful. Nobody  ought  to  be  able  to  look  at  such  a picture 
without  shedding  tears.  See  the  light  on  the  heads  — oh ! it 
is  beautiful!  ” Then  he  began  to  ramble  a little,  but  soon 
came  back  to  realities,  and  invited  Leslie  to  dine  the  next  day 
and  meet  two  distinguished  friends.  “ I ’d  rather  have  you 
by  yourself,”  he  added;  “you  and  I could  do  very  well  with- 
out the  others.” 

This  was  the  Rogers  of  1854,  — senile,  as  was  natural  at  the 
age  of  ninety-one  years  and  eight  months,  yet  still  retaining 
much  of  the  old  Rogers,  hospitable,  sometimes  caustic,  some- 
times pathetic,  and  always  a true  lover  and  appreciator  of  the 
fine  arts.  Leslie  declared  him  to  be  the  only  amateur  who 
had  knowledge  enough  to  form  a good  collection  without 
assistance. 

I dined  with  Leslie  the  same  day , and  the  talk  turned  upon 
the  poets.  Leslie  said  that  the  virtue  of  geniality  was  of 
great  value  to  a poet,  and  that  if  Byron  had  possessed  the 
geniality  of  Goldsmith,  he  would  have  been  as  great  a poet  as 
Shakespeare,  but  that  his  misanthropy  spoiled  all  his  views 
of  life.  In  saying  this,  Leslie  probably  underestimated  the 
literary  value  of  ill-nature.  Much  of  Byron’s  intensity  and 


140 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


force  is  due  to  the  energy  of  malevolence.  The  success  of 
Ruskin’s  earlier  writings  was  due  in  part  to  the  same  cause. 
In  periodical  literature,  it  was  pure  mechancete  that  first 
made  the  “ Saturday  Review  ” successful. 

Talking  of  Talfourd  (who  had  lately  died  on  the  bench) 
Leslie  said  that  he  was  a high  liver,  and  that  led  him  to  give 
an  account  of  Sir  Walter  Scott’s  way  of  life.  At  dinner  he 
would  eat  heartily  of  many  dishes  and  drink  a variety  of 
wines.  At  dessert  he  drank  port;  and  last  of  all  a servant 
brought  him  a small  wooden  bowl  full  of  neat  whiskey,  which 
he  drank  off.  He  then  either  wrote  or  talked  till  midnight, 
and  refreshed  himself  with  a few  glasses  of  porter  before  going 
to  bed.  Leslie  did  not  mean  to  imply  that  Scott  was  intem- 
perate for  a man  of  a robust  constitution  who  took  a great 
deal  of  exercise,  hut  only  that,  like  Talfourd,  he  was  a high 
liver.  It  is  remarkable,  in  connection  with  the  subject  of 
Scott’s  own  habits,  that  eating  and  drinking  are  so  often  and 
so  minutely  described  in  his  novels.  His  heroes  and  heroines 
always  have  hearty  appetites,  except  when  they  are  laid  up 
with  illness. 

A few  days  after  our  visit  to  Rogers,  I went  to  see  Leslie’s 
picture  of  “The  Rape  of  the  Lock,”  and  met  Robinson,  the 
engraver,  on  my  way.  He  told  me  to  expect  the  finest 
modern  picture  I had  ever  seen.  It  was  certainly  one  of  the 
most  perfect  works  of  its  class.  The  action  and  expression  of 
the  sixteen  figures  were  as  lively  as  in  a Hogarth,  with  more 
refinement.  Leslie  was  completely  in  sympathy  with  Queen 
Anne’s  time,  and  reproduced  it  with  unfailing  zest  and  knowl- 
edge. He  had  been  very  careful  about  details.  The  interior 
at  Hampton  Court  had  been  painted  on  the  spot,  and  all  the 
still  life  in  the  picture,  even  to  a fan,  had  been  studied  with 
equal  accuracy.  Mrs.  Leslie’s  mother  sat  looking  at  the  pic- 
ture, and  making  the  liveliest  comments  on  the  subject  and 
the  actors.  She  would  get  up  without  hesitation  to  see  some- 
thing more  nearly,  and  turn  round  with  perfect  balance  of 
body  to  make  her  remarks  to  the  company.  She  appeared  to 
me  then  to  be  about  sixty,  but  the  age  of  her  daughter  made 
that  impossible.  Her  real  age  was  ninety-three  ! It  seemed 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


141 


incredible  that  she  was  older  than  Mr.  Rogers.  Her  grand- 
children were  playfully  sarcastic  at  times,  to  draw  her  out  in 
argument. 

“We  know,  grandmamma,  that  you  are  a dandy  yourself, 
so  no  wonder  that  you  admire  the  dresses  in  the  picture.” 

“ Yes,  yes,  I do  like  people  to  be  dressed  as  well  as  possible, 
— as  well,  I mean,  as  they  can  really  afford.  I like  them  to 
wear  the  very  best  materials  as  tastefully  as  they  can.”  Whilst 
she  was  looking  at  the  picture,  Mr.  Leslie  sat  down  by  her 
side  and  read  the  passage  from  “ The  Rape  of  the  Lock  ” that 
his  painting  illustrated.  It  was  a very  interesting  scene  — 
the  master  with  his  children  about  him,  and  his  wife  and  her 
old  mother  all  looking  at  his  last  and  greatest  work,  whilst 
he  was  reading  Pope’s  perfect  verses  so  beautifully. 

I have  scarcely  mentioned  Leslie’s  sons  yet.  George,  the 
future  Academician,  was  an  intimate  friend  of  mine  in  those 
days.  He  was  a clever  talker,  and  he  had  the  advantage  — 
often  precious  to  a taciturn  companion  like  me  — of  never 
allowing  the  conversation  to  flag  for  a single  instant.  I think 
I never  knew  any  one  of  the  male  sex,  with  the  exception 
of  Francis  Palgrave,  who  could  keep  up  such  an  abundant 
stream  of  talk  as  George  Leslie.  This  led  some  of  his  friends 
to  think  that  he  would  never  have  any  practical  success  in 
art,  but  he  afterwards  proved  them  to  be  in  the  wrong.  He 
had  a frank,  straightforward,  boyish  nature,  with  a fund  of 
humor,  and  a healthy  disposition  to  be  easily  pleased.  His 
philosophy  of  life,  under  an  appearance  of  careless  gayety, 
was,  perhaps,  in  reality  deeper  than  that  of  my  learned  friend 
Mr.  Mackay;  for  whilst  the  elderly  scholar  was  laboring  pain- 
fully and  thanklessly  to  elucidate  the  past,  the  young  artist 
was  enjoying  the  present  in  his  own  way,  and  looking  for- 
ward hopefully  to  the  future.  The  buoyancy  of  spirits  that 
George  Leslie  had  in  those  days  is  an  excellent  gift  for  a 
young  artist,  because  it  carries  him  merrily  over  the  difficul- 
ties of  his  craft.  His  brother  Robert  was  older  and  graver. 
He  painted  landscape  and  marine  subjects;  but  though  his 
pictures  have  been  regularly  accepted  at  the  Academy  he  has 
had  no  popular  success.  This  may  be  attributed  in  great  part 


142 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


to  his  habit  of  living  away  from  London.  Robert  Leslie  has 
all  his  life  had  very  strong  nautical  instincts,  and  very  likely 
knows  more  about  shipping  than  any  other  artist.  My  belief 
is  that  one  reason  why  he  has  not  been  a very  successful 
painter  is  that  he  knows  too  much  about  nature,  and  lives 
too  much  in  the  presence  of  nature,  which  is  always  over- 
whelming and  discouraging.  After  I knew  him  in  London, 
Robert  Leslie  indulged  his  nautical  instincts  in  sailing  and 
yacht-building,  as  well  as  in  painting  marine  pictures. 
Aided  only  by  a single  workman,  he  constructed  a vessel 
of  thirty-six  tons.  With  this  and  other  yachts  he  has  made 
himself  familiar  with  the  southern  coasts  of  England,  and 
has  frequently  crossed  the  Atlantic  both  on  steamers  and 
sailing-vessels.  Now  that  we  are  both  getting  elderly  men  I 
heartily  regret  not  to  have  seen  more  of  Robert  Leslie;  but 
so  it  is  in  life,  — so  it  has  been  particularly  in  my  life,  — we 
are  separated  by  distance  from  those  who  might  have  been  our 
most  intimate  and  most  valued  friends.1 

Another  friend,  gained  during  my  first  stay  in  London,  was 
Mr.  Watkiss  Lloyd,  who  has  given  up  many  of  the  best 
years  of  his  life  to  intellectual  pursuits.  He  has  been  much 
devoted  to  ancient  Greek  literature  and  history,  and  has 
studied  Greek  art  with  unflagging  interest  at  the  same  time, 
so  that  he  possesses  an  advantage  over  most  scholars  in  know- 
ing both  sides  of  the  Hellenic  intellect.  He  has  a manly, 
frank,  and  generous  nature,  with  cheerful,  open  manners. 
Watkiss  Lloyd  is  one  of  several  superior  men  amongst  my 
acquaintances  who  have  not  achieved  popularity  as  authors. 
The  reason  in  his  case  may  be  that  as  he  has  never  been 
obliged  to  write  for  money,  he  has  never  cared  to  study  the 
conditions  of  success.  I told  him  once,  when  we  were  talk- 
ing on  this  subject,  that  in  my  opinion  it  was  most  necessary 
to  have  a clear  and  definite  idea  of  the  kind  of  public  one  is 
addressing,  and  that  we  ought  to  write  to  an  especial  public, 
as  St.  Paul  wrote  to  the  Ephesians.  Failure  may  be  caused 

1 Robert  Leslie  had  a literary  gift,  and  wrote  some  clever  papers, 
which  have  been  collected  and  published  under  the  title  of  " A Sea 
Painter’s  Log.” 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


143 


by  having  confused  ideas  about  our  public,  or  by  writing  only 
for  ourselves,  as  if  our  works  were  destined  to  remain  in 
manuscript  like  a private  journal.  A man  may  write  what 
is  clear  for  himself,  when  it  will  require  to  be  read  twice  or 
three  times  by  another.  Besides  this  reason,  I am  inclined 
to  believe  that  the  constant  study  of  ancient  Greek  is  not 
a good  preparation  for  popular  English  authorship.  The 
scholar  and  the  successful  writer  are  two  distinct  persons. 
They  may  be  occasionally  combined  in  one  by  accident,  but 
if  the  reader  will  run  over  in  his  mind  the  names  of  popular 
modern  authors,  he  will  find  very  few  distinguished  scholars 
amongst  them. 

However  this  may  be,  Watkiss  Lloyd  is  something  better 
than  a popular  author ; he  is  an  intellectual  man , truly  a lover 
of  knowledge  and  of  wisdom.  Without  shutting  his  eyes  to 
the  evils  that  are  in  the  world,  he  does  not  forget  the  good. 
On  one  occasion,  after  a terrible  malady  that  had  occurred 
to  one  dear  to  him,  I said  that  undeserved  diseases  seemed 
to  me  clear  evidence  of  imperfection  in  the  universe.  He 
answered,  that  as  we  receive  many  benefits  from  the  existing 
order  of  things  that  we  have  not  merited  in  any  way,  so  we 
may  accept  those  evils  that  we  have  not  merited  either.  This 
struck  me  as  a better  reason  for  resignation  than  the  common 
assertion  that  we  are  wicked  enough  to  deserve  the  most 
frightful  inflictions.  We  do  not  really  believe  that  our 
wickedness  deserves  cancer  or  leprosy. 

I never  wished  to  push  myself  into  the  society  of  celebrated 
persons  for  the  purpose  of  getting  acquainted  with  them,  but 
I plead  guilty  to  that  degree  of  curiosity  which  likes  to  see 
them  in  the  flesh.  I knew  Landseer  by  sight,  and  probably 
rather  astonished  him  once  in  a London  street  by  taking  my 
hat  off  as  if  he  had  been  Prince  Albert.  He  used  to  pass 
an  evening  from  time  to  time  at  Leslie’s  house,  and  I met 
him  there.  He  then  seemed  a very  jovial,  merry  English 
humorist,  with  a natural  talent  for  satire  and  mimicry;  but 
there  was  another  side  to  his  nature.  If  he  enjoyed  himself 
heartily  when  in  company,  he  often  suffered  from  deep  depres- 
sion when  alone.  I remember  seeing  him  by  himself  when. 


144 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


he  looked  the  image  of  profound  melancholy.  At  that  time 
I had  warmer  admiration  for  his  art  than  I have  now,  and 
the  general  public  looked  upon  him  as  the  greatest  artist  in 
England.  No  doubt  he  was  very  observant,  and  had  a won- 
derful memory  for  animals  and  their  ways,  as  well  as  some 
invention;  he  had  also  unsurpassable  technical  skill,  of  a 
superficial  kind,  in  painting. 

Harding  was  another  very  clever  artist  whom  I met  at 
Leslie’s.  I had  correspondence  with  him  a little  as  a 
teacher,  and  had  studied  his  works.  He  had  taught  many 
amateurs,  including  Mr.  Euskin  and  a clever  friend  of  mine 
in  the  North.  I admired  his  skill,  but  disliked  his  extreme 
artificiality  of  style,  and  the  more  I went  to  nature  the  more 
objectionable  did  it  appear  to  me.  The  kind  of  success  which 
is  attained  by  forcing  nature  into  drawing-masters’  set  forms 
never  tempted  me  in  the  least.  Harding  was  at  one  time 
probably  the  most  successful  drawing-master  in  England. 
The  word  “ clever  ” characterizes  him  exactly.  He  was  clever 
in  the  art  of  substituting  himself  for  nature,  clever  in  the 
wonderful  facility  with  which  he  used  several  graphic  arts 
technically  very  different  from  each  other,  and  clever  espe- 
cially in  that  supreme  tact  of  the  successful  drawing-master 
by  which  he  makes  the  amateur  seem  to  get  forward  rapidly. 
He  had  immense  confidence  in  himself,  and  in  his  own  theo- 
ries and  principles. 

Another  well-known  artist  whom  I met  at  Leslie’s  was 
Eichard  Hoyle.  He  had  great  gifts  of  wit  and  invention, 
with  a curiously  small  fund  of  science,  — genius  without  the 
knowledge  that  might  have  given  strength  to  genius.  It  is 
impossible,  however,  to  feel  any  regret  on  this  account,  for 
if  Hoyle’s  drawings  had  been  thoroughly  learned  they  would 
have  lost  their  naivete . He  was  intelligent  enough  to  make 
even  his  lack  of  science  an  element  of  success,  for  he  turned 
it  into  a pretended  simplicity.  His  own  face  was  mobile  and 
expressive,  and  it  was  evident  that  he  passed  quickly  from 
one  idea  to  another  without  uttering  more  than  a small  per- 
centage of  his  thoughts. 

I remember  dancing  “ Sir  Eoger  de  Coverley  ” when  Land- 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


145 


seer  and  Richard  Doyle  were  of  the  set.  They  were  both 
extremely  amusing,  hut  with  this  difference:  that  whereas 
Landseer  evidently  laid  himself  out  to  be  funny  in  gesture 
and  action,  the  fun  in  Doyle’s  case  lay  entirely  in  the  play 
of  his  physiognomy.  Leslie,  too,  had  a most  expressive  face 
— not  handsome  (I  mean,  of  course,  the  elder  Leslie;  hi3 
son  George  is  handsome),  but  most  interesting,  and  full  of 
meaning. 


10 


146 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY . 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

1854. 

Miss  Marian  Evans.  — John  Chapman,  the  publisher.  — My  friend  William 
Shaw.  — His  brother  Richard.  — Mead,  the  tragedian.  — Mrs.  Rowan 
and  her  daughter.  — A vexatious  incident.  — I suffer  from  nostalgia 
for  the  country. 

Mr.  Mackay  took  me  to  one  of  the  evening  receptions  that 
were  given  at  that  time  by  Mr.  John  Chapman,  the  publisher. 
On  our  way  he  spoke  of  Miss  Marian  Evans,  then  only  known 
to  a few  as  a translator  from  the  German,  and  to  still  fewer 
as  a contributor  of  articles  to  the  “ Westminster  Review,”  — a 
periodical  that  she  partly  directed.  Neither  the  translations 
nor  the  articles  revealed  anything  beyond  good  ordinary  lit- 
erary abilities.  Mr.  Mackay  told  me,  however,  that  this 
Miss  Evans  was  a very  accomplished  lady,  and  played  remark- 
ably well  on  the  piano. 

She  was  at  Mr.  Chapman’s  little  conversazione,  and  per- 
formed for  us.  I remember  being  well  pleased  with  the 
music,  and  thinking  that  she  was  one  of  the  best  amateurs 
I had  heard,  hut  I cannot  remember  what  she  played,  nor 
anything  about  her  talk,  which  would  probably  be  a series 
of  little  private  conversations  with  people  that  she  already 
knew. 

Mr.  John  Chapman  was  young  at  that  time,  and  a very 
fine-looking  man.  He  had  entered  upon  the  most  unprofit- 
able line  of  business  that  he  could  have  chosen  in  the  England 
of  those  days,  the  trade  in  philosophic  free-thinking  literature 
of  the  highest  class.  The  number  of  buyers  was,  of  course, 
exceedingly  limited,  both  by  the  thoughtful  character  of  the 
works  published,  and  by  the  unpopularity  of  the  opinions 
expressed  in  them.  The  marvel  is  that  such  a speciality  in 
publishing  could  be  made  to  support  itself  at  all.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  some  of  the  wealthier  free-thinkers  published 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


147 


their  works , or  those  of  others , at  their  own  expense , and  some 
helped  to  maintain  the  “Westminster  Review.”  Things 
have  altered  wonderfully  since  then.  At  the  present  day  the 
literature  of  free  inquiry  is  presented  to  the  world  by  the 
richest  and  most  eminent  publishing  firms,  and  free-thinkers 
have  access  to  the  most  influential  and  the  most  widely  dis- 
seminated periodicals. 

Some  readers  of  this  autobiography  may  still  look  upon 
John  Chapman’s  speciality  with  horror;  but  such  a feeling 
would  be  unjust.  The  books  he  published  were  generally 
high  in  tone,  and  they  certainly  never  condescended  to  the 
Use  of  unbecoming  language  in  dealing  with  matters  held 
sacred  by  the  majority  of  the  English  people.  The  only 
Object  of  that  modest  propaganda  was  to  win  for  Englishmen 
the  right  to  think  for  themselves,  and  also  to  express  their 
thoughts.  That  battle  has  been  won,  and,  for  my  part,  I feel 
nothing  but  respect  for  those  who  had  courage  to  confront  the 
stern  intolerance  of  the  past. 

My  society  in  London  was  not  entirely  confined  to  the 
pursuers  of  literature  and  art.  I had  a few  other  friends, 
especially  one  old  school-fellow,  William  Shaw,  afterwards 
an  able  London  solicitor.  His  mind  was  an  odd  compound 
of  manly  sense  in  everything  connected  with  his  profession, 
and  boyishness  in  other  ways.  He  always  retained  that  boy- 
ishness, which  was  probably  an  excellent  thing  for  him  as  a 
relaxation  from  serious  cares.  He  took  little  interest  in  the 
fine  arts,  but  at  a later  period  he  had  the  wonderful  goodness 
to  give  house-room  to  some  of  my  unpopular  and  unsalable 
pictures,  and  went  so  far,  in  the  way  of  friendship,  that  he 
actually  hung  them  in  his  dining-room!  He  was  very  fond 
of  recalling  reminiscences  of  our  childhood,  especially  what 
he  characterized  as  “the  great  Eulledge  railway  swindle.” 
When  we  were  little  boys  we  undertook  the  construction  of 
a miniature  railway  on  his  father’s  land,  and  issued  shares 
to  pay  for  the  rolling  plant  and  the  rails.  We  got  together 
rather  a handsome  sum  in  this  way  from  various  good-natured 
friends,  and  after  the  expiration  of  some  weeks  could  show 
them  a rather  long  embankment.  Then  we  got  tired  of  spade 


148 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


work,  and  the  enterprise  languished.  Finally  the  works 
came  to  a standstill,  and  I believe  we  spent  the  shareholders’ 
money  on  something  else,  for  assuredly  they  never  saw  it 
again.  After  beginning  so  hopefully  in  the  art  of  getting  up 
bubble  companies,  it  is  perhaps  to  he  regretted  that  we  did 
not  continue,  as  we  might  have  been  eminent  financiers  by 
this  time.  My  friend  was  very  active  in  his  youth.  I have 
seen  him  run  by  the  side  of  a galloping  horse  in  a field,  hold- 
ing by  the  mane,  and  vault  on  the  animal’s  back,  after  which 
it  went  on  faster  than  ever  and  leapt  a little  brook  or  a hedge. 
An  odd  incident  occurs  to  my  recollection  just  now.  My 
friend  had  a susceptible  heart,  and  a ravishing  beauty  was 
staying  at  a certain  country  house,  so  we  drove  over  to  call 
there  that  he  might  see  her.  I went  with  him,  and  we  had 
a dog-cart  with  a very  lively  horse.  The  drive  was  in  the 
form  of  a great  circle  before  the  front  door,  so  he  tried  to 
turn  to  the  left;  but  the  horse  had  decided  for  the  right,  and 
between  them  they  effected  a compromise  by  taking  a straight 
cut  over  the  lawn  and  flower-beds,  which  presented  a deplor- 
able appearance  afterwards.  Any  one  else  would  have  felt  a 
little  confused  after  such  an  accident,  but  Shaw  relied  upon 
the  good-nature  of  the  ladies,  who  always  forgave  him  every- 
thing in  consideration  for  his  winning  ways  and  his  handsome 
face. 

William  Shaw’s  brother,  Richard,  was  the  first  member  of 
Parliament  who  represented  Burnley.  I met  him  in  London 
in  1854,  and  remember  a description  he  gave  of  an  old  gentle- 
man who  was  then  living  permanently  at  the  Tavistock  Hotel. 
That  old  gentleman  was  a perfect  mystery ; no  one  knew  where 
he  came  from : he  never  either  wrote  or  received  a letter,  he 
had  no  settled  occupation,  but  read  all  the  papers,  and  used 
to  swear  aloud  quite  dreadfully  when  he  found  any  fact  or 
opinion  that  displeased  him.  He  compensated  for  this  bad 
language  by  shouting 11  Bravo ! bravo ! Go  it,  my  boy ! ” when 
he  found  an  article  to  his  mind.  He  once  rambled  twice 
round  Covent  Garden  market  without  being  able  to  find  his 
way  out,  and  on  discovering  that  he  had  got  back  to  the  Tavis- 
tock, attributed  all  his  difficulties  to  the  waiter,  and  scolded 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


149 


him  most  furiously.  The  mystery  about  him,  and  his  odd 
manners,  would  have  been  an  attraction  for  Dickens. 

Amongst  other  acquaintances  that  I made  in  London  was 
Mead,  the  tragedian  of  Drury  Lane  Theatre.  I recollect 
admiring  his  “ Iago  ” very  much.  His  countenance,  which 
was  agreeable  and  bland  in  private  life,  could  be  made  to 
express  all  the  evil  passions  with  astonishing  power.  He 
was  rather  a skilful  painter,  having  occasionally  been  able  to 
sell  a picture  for  twenty  pounds.  When  he  had  a little  time 
to  spare,  Mead  would  come  and  work  on  Pettitt’s  great  picture 
of  the  Golden  Image.  He  once  drew  my  portrait,  and  I drew 
his.  My  guardian  was  not  quite  pleased  that  I should  know 
an  actor,  but  Mead  attracted  me  by  the  superior  tone  of  his 
conversation.  It  was  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  I had  met 
with  an  accomplished  talker;  I had  known  plenty  of  talkers 
who  were  only  fluent,  but  Mead  had  always  something  inter- 
esting to  say,  and  he  invariably  said  it  with  easy  finish  and 
good  taste.  In  a word,  he  was  a master  of  spoken  English, 
and  did  not  fear  to  make  use  of  his  power,  not  having  the 
usual  English  false  shame  which  prevents  our  countrymen 
from  saying  things  quite  perfectly.  Mead  had  tender  feel- 
ings. Once  after  reading  in  a newspaper  the  account  of  some 
battle  of  no  great  importance,  as  we  consider  such  events  from 
a distance,  he  suddenly  realized,  in  imagination,  the  effect 
of  the  news  on  the  relatives  of  the  killed  and  wounded,  and 
burst  into  tears.  Mead  was  good  enough  to  accept  on  one  or 
two  occasions  the  simple  kind  of  hospitality  that  I could  offer 
him  at  my  lodgings,  and  I find  notes  in  the  diary  recording 
the  happy  swiftness  of  the  hours  I spent  with  him. 

I never  made  the  slightest  attempt  to  enter  what  is  specially 
called  “London  Society,”  though  I had  some  friends  or 
acquaintances  who  belonged  to  it.  My  time  was  entirely 
taken  up  with  work  and  visits  to  a few  houses.  I am  aston- 
ished on  looking  back  to  those  days  by  the  extreme  kindness 
of  people  who  were  much  older  than  myself,  and  for  whom 
my  society  could  have  no  other  attraction  than  the  oppor- 
tunity it  offered  for  the  exercise  of  their  own  goodness.  I 
had  one  merit,  that  of  being  an  excellent  listener,  which  has 


150 


A UTOBIO  GRAPHY. 


been  a great  advantage  to  me  through  life.  A distinguished 
Frenchman  once  said  to  me,  “ You  are  the  best  listener  I ever 
met ; ” but  he  had  been  accustomed  to  his  own  countrymen 
who  are  not  generally  patient  or  attentive  for  more  than  a few 
seconds  at  a time,  and  who  have  the  habit  of  interruption. 

It  is  possible,  too,  that  my  manners  may  have  been  good, 
for  my  dear  guardian,  so  kind  and  mild  about  most  things, 
could  not  tolerate  anything  like  boorishness,  and  never  hesi- 
tated to  correct  me.  Another  effect  of  her  influence  upon  me 
was  that  I liked  the  society  of  well-bred  ladies,  and  felt  quite 
at  ease  in  it.  There  was  a most  intelligent  Danish  family  of 
ladies,  Mrs.  Rowan  and  her  daughters,  who  received  me  very 
kindly.  They  spoke  English  wonderfully,  with  something 
like  a slight  Cumberland  accent,  and  I believe  their  German 
was  as  good  as  their  English.  Mrs.  Rowan  had  been  a friend 
of  Thorwaldsen  the  sculptor,  and  possessed  three  hundred  and 
fifty  of  his  orginal  drawings,  which  I did  not  see,  as  she  had 
lent  them  to  Prince  Albert.  A singular  and  most  vexatious 
incident  is  associated  in  my  memory  with  those  drawings,  and 
I am  sure  Mrs.  Rowan  could  never  think  of  them  without 
remembering  it.  She  had  (too  kindly)  lent  them  to  an  artist, 
who  returned  them,  indeed,  but  not  without  having  exer- 
cised his  own  talents  in  improving  them,  as  drawing-masters 
do  to  the  work  of  their  youthful  pupils.  The  reader  may 
imagine  the  depth  of  Mrs.  Rowan’s  gratitude.  Her  daughter, 
Frederica,  whose  name  afterwards  became  generally  known, 
was  one  of  the  most  cultivated  and  agreeable  women  I ever 
met.  Her  nature  had  been  a little  saddened  by  family  mis- 
fortunes (the  Rowans  had  been  a very  wealthy  family  in 
Denmark),  but  her  quiet  gravity  was  of  a noble  kind, 
and  if  she  took  life  seriously  she  had  sufficient  reasons  for 
doing  so. 

My  studies  under  Mr.  Pettitt  went  on  very  regularly  all 
this  time,  and  I made  great  apparent  progress,  although,  as 
will  be  seen  later,  it  was  not  progress  in  the  right  direction. 
One  little  incident  may  be  mentioned  in  proof  that  I could  at 
least  imitate  closely.  The  reader  is  already  aware  that  my 
masters  system  of  teaching  consisted  in  bringing  a picture 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


151 


slowly  forward  in  my  presence,  whilst  I was  to  copy  what 
had  been  done.  One  day,  when  the  picture  had  got  well  for- 
ward, Mr.  Petti tt  took  up  my  copy  by  mistake  and  put  it  on 
his  own  easel.  After  he  had  worked  upon  it  for  a quarter  of 
an  hour  I thanked  him  for  the  improvement.  He  said  he 
had  been  quite  unconscious  of  the  difference,  and  told  me  to 
work  on  his  own  canvas  to  repay  him  for  his  labor  on  mine. 
Critics  will  please  understand  that  I know  how  little  this 
proves  as  well  as  they  do.  It  proves  nothing  beyond  a talent 
for  imitation  and  the  possession  of  some  manual  skill.  I 
have  sometimes  thought  in  later  life  that  if  instead  of  going 
so  much  to  nature  I had  mimicked  some  particular  painter  I 
might  have  obtained  recognition  as  an  artist. 

Notwithstanding  so  much  that  was  agreeable  in  my  London 
life,  it  was  still  a hard  trial  of  resolution  for  me  to  work  in 
a close,  ill-ventilated,  and  gloomy  studio  without  any  view 
from  its  window,  and  in  the  beginning  of  April  I returned  to 
the  country.  From  that  day  to  this  I have  never  lived  in 
London,  which  has  probably  been  a misfortune  to  me,  both 
as  artist  and  writer.  I have  been  there  frequently  on  busi- 
ness, but  have  never  stayed  a day  or  an  hour  longer  than  the 
time  necessary  to  get  through  what  was  most  pressing.  It  is 
curious,  but  perfectly  true,  that  I have  never  in  my  life  felt 
the  slightest  desire  to  purchase  or  rent  any  house  whatever  in 
London,  and  there  is  not  a house  in  all  “ the  wilderness  of 
brick  ” that  I would  accept  as  a free  gift  if  it  were  coupled 
with  the  condition  that  I should  live  in  it. 


152 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

1854. 

Some  of  my  relations  emigrate  to  New  Zealand.  — Difficulties  of  a poor 
gentleman.  — My  uncle’s  reasons  for  emigration.  — His  departure. — 
Family  separations.  — Our  love  for  Hollins. 

In  the  month  of  April,  1854,  an  event  occurred  which  was  of 
great  importance  in  our  family. 

My  eldest  uncle,  Holden  Hamerton,  emigrated  to  New 
Zealand  with  all  his  children,  and  a son  and  daughter  of  my 
uncle  Hinde  accompanied  them.  This  suddenly  reduced  our 
circle  by  eleven  persons,  without  counting  a young  family 
belonging  to  my  cousin  Orme. 

My  uncle,  who  was  at  that  time  a solicitor  in  Halifax,  had 
reached  a very  critical  period  in  the  life  of  a pere  de  famille. 
His  children  were  grown  up  and  expensive,  and  he  had  tried 
various  ways  of  economizing  without  any  definite  result. 
Amongst  others,  he  had  given  up  Hopwood  Hall,  his  man- 
sion in  Halifax,  and  had  converted  the  stabling  at  Hollins 
into  a residence  for  his  wife  and  the  children  who  remained 
with  her.  The  stables  were  large  enough  to  make  a spacious 
dwelling.  I remember  the  regret  I felt  on  seeing  the  work- 
men pull  down  the  handsome  oak  stalls,  and  remove  the  beauti- 
ful pavement,  which  was  in  blocks  of  smooth  stone  carefully 
bevelled  at  the  angles.  My  unfortunate  uncle  lived  like  a 
bachelor  in  a small  house  in  Halifax  to  be  near  his  office,  and 
only  came  to  Hollins  for  the  Sunday. 

It  is,  of  course,  very  easy  to  criticize  a comparatively  poor 
gentleman  with  a large  family  who  is  trying  not  to  be  ruined. 
It  is  easy  to  say  that  he  ought  to  live  strictly  within  his 
income,  whatever  it  may  be;  but  to  do  that  strictly  would 
require  an  iron  resolution.  He  must  cut  short  all  indul- 
gences, annihilate  all  elegancies,  set  his  face  against  all  the 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


153 


customs  of  his  class.  His  attitude  towards  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren must  be  one  of  stem  refusal  steadily  and  implacably 
maintained.  If  he  relaxes  — and  all  the  influences  around 
him  tend  to  make  him  relax  — the  old  habits  of  customary 
expense  will  re-establish  themselves  in  a few  weeks.  He 
must  cut  his  family  off  from  all  society,  and  with  regard  to 
himself  he  must  do  what  is  far  more  difficult  — cut  himself 
off  from  all  domestic  affection,  behave  like  a heartless  miser, 
and,  at  the  very  time  when  he  most  needs  a little  solace  and 
peace  in  his  own  home,  constitute  himself  the  executor  of  the 
pitiless  laws  that  govern  the  human  universe. 

My  uncle  was  not  equal  to  all  this.  He  could  make  hard 
sacrifices  for  himself,  and,  in  fact,  did  reduce  his  own  com- 
forts to  those  of  a poor  bachelor,  but  he  could  not  find  in  his 
heart  to  refuse  everything  to  his  family;  so  that  although 
they  made  no  pretension  now  to  anything  like  an  aristocratic 
position,  my  uncle  still  found  himself  to  be  living  rather 
beyond  his  means,  and  the  expense  of  establishing  his  sons 
and  daughters  in  England  being  now  imminent,  and  avoid- 
able only  in  one  way,  he  spent  days,  and  I fear  also  nights, 
of  anxiety  in  arriving  at  a determination. 

A journey  to  Scotland  settled  the  matter.  My  uncle  visited 
his  eldest  son  Orme,  who  was  then  at  Greenock,  and  he  dis- 
covered, as  I had  done,  that  my  cousin  was  married.  Of 
course  I had  kept  his  secret,  having  found  it  out  by  accident 
when  a guest  under  his  roof.  The  young  man  offered  to 
accompany  his  father  to  New  Zealand,  and  my  uncle,  who 
loved  his  eldest  son,  thought  that  this  would  be  some  compen- 
sation for  leaving  England.  He  did  not  know  that  Orme’s 
irresistible  instinct  for  changing  his  residence  would  make 
the  New  Zealand  expedition  no  more  than  a temporary  excur- 
sion for  him. 

Another  reason  for  emigrating  to  New  Zealand  was  this: 
My  uncle’s  second  son,  Lewis,  had  abandoned  the  profession 
of  the  law  and  gone  to  Australia  by  himself,  where  he  was 
now  a shepherd  in  the  bush.  He  would  rejoin  his  father, 
and  they  would  he  a re-united  family.  All  of  them  would 
be  together  in  New  Zealand  except  one,  my  cousin  Edward, 


154 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


who  lay  in  the  family  vault  in  Burnley  Church.  I had  feel- 
ings of  the  strongest  fraternal  affection  for  Edward,  and  if 
the  reader  cares  to  see  his  likeness,  he  has  only  to  look  at  the 
engraved  portraits  of  Shelley,  especially  the  one  in  Moxon’s 
double -column  edition  of  1847.  The  likeness  there  is  so 
striking  that,  for  me,  it  supplies  the  place  of  any  other. 

Edward  died  at  the  age  of  seventeen.  He  had  a gentle  and 
sweet  nature;  hut  although  he  resembled  Shelley  so  closely 
in  outward  appearance,  he  was  without  any  poetical  tendency. 
His  gifts  were  arithmetical  and  mathematical,  and  whenever 
he  had  a quarter  of  an  hour  to  spare  he  was  sure  to  take  a 
piece  of  paper  and  cover  it  all  over  with  figures.  His  early 
death  certainly  spared  him  much  trouble  that  he  was  hardly 
qualified  to  meet.  He  had  that  dislike  to  physical  exercise 
which  often  accompanies  delicate  health,  though  there  was  no 
appearance  of  weakness  till  the  beginning  of  his  fatal  illness. 

I well  remember  my  uncle’s  last  visit  to  his  sisters.  He 
did  not  say  that  it  was  his  last,  but  left  some  clean  linen  in 
the  house,  saying  he  would  want  it  when  he  came  again.  In 
this  way  there  was  a little  make-belief  of  hope ; but  I doubt 
if  my  aunts  were  really  deceived,  and  I did  not  quite  know 
what  to  think.  My  uncle  seemed  flushed  and  excited,  and 
contradicted  me  rather  sharply  because  I happened  to  be  in 
error  about  something  of  no  importance.  It  was  a hard 
moment  for  him,  as  he  loved  his  sisters,  and  had  the  deepest 
attachment  to  Hollins,  where  he  was  born,  and  where  he  had 
passed  the  happiest  days  of  his  life.  His  last  visit  has 
remained  so  distinct  in  my  memory  that  I can  even  now  see 
clearly  his  great  stalwart  figure  in  the  chair  on  the  right- 
hand  side  of  the  fireplace.  Then  he  left  us  and  passed  the 
window,  and  since  that  day  he  never  was  seen  again  at  his 
old  place.  I can  imagine  what  it  must  have  been  to  him  to 
turn  round  at  the  avenue  gate,  and  look  back  on  the  gables  of 
Hollins,  knowing  it  to  be  for  the  last  time. 

His  wife  and  the  rest  of  his  family  went  away  without 
inflicting  upon  themselves  and  us  the  pain  of  a farewell.  I 
was  present,  however,  at  Featherstone  when  my  cousin  Hinde 
left  for  New  Zealand.  One  of  his  sisters  accompanied  him 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


155 


out  of  pure  sisterly  devotion.  She  thought  he  would  be 
lonely  out  in  the  colony,  so  she  would  go  and  stay  with  him 
till  he  married.  He  did  not  marry,  and  she  never  returned. 

The  colonial  strength  of  England  is  founded  upon  these 
family  separations,  but  they  are  terrible  when  they  occur, 
especially  when  the  parents  are  left  behind  in  the  old  country. 
To  us  who  remained  this  wholesale  emigration  in  our  family 
produced  the  effect  of  a great  and  sudden  mortality.  For  my 
part  I have  received  exactly  one  letter  from  the  New  Zealand 
Hamertons  since  they  left.  It  was  a very  interesting  letter, 
interesting  enough  to  make  me  regret  “ there  was  but  one.  ” 

My  uncle’s  property  sold  well,  and  on  leaving  England  he 
had  still  a balance  of  ten  thousand  pounds  in  his  pocket, 
which  was  more  than  most  emigrants  set  out  with;  but  he 
built  a good  house  on  the  estate  he  purchased,  and  it  was 
ruined  in  the  war.  His  wife  was  a woman  of  great  courage 
and  wonderful  constitutional  cheerfulness,  both  severely  tested 
by  three  months  of  incessant  sea-sickness  on  the  outward 
voyage.  They  met  with  one  terrible  storm,  during  which  the 
captain  did  not  hope  to  save  the  vessel,  and  my  uncle  and 
aunt  sat  together  in  their  cabin  clasping  each  other’s  hands, 
and  calmly  awaiting  death. 

After  their  departure  my  guardian  and  her  sister  remained 
at  Hollins  as  tenants  of  the  new  proprietor.  We  still  clung 
to  the  old  place,  but  it  did  not  seem  the  same  to  us.  On  the 
night  of  the  sale  by  auction  my  aunt  said  to  me,  sadly,  as  we 
took  our  candlesticks  to  go  to  bed : “ It  is  strange  to  think 
that  we  positively  do  not  know  under  whose  roof  we  are  going 
to  sleep  to-night.”  The  change  was  felt  most  painfully  by 
her.  My  guardian  had  a more  resigned  way  of  accepting  the 
evils  of  life;  she  had  a kind  of  Christian  pessimism  that 
looked  upon  terrestrial  existence  as  not  “ worth  living”  in 
itself,  and  a little  less  or  more  of  trouble  and  sorrow  in  this 
world  seemed  to  her  scarcely  worth  considering,  being  only 
a part  of  the  general  unsatisfactoriness  of  things.  Her  sister 
had  intense  local  attachments,  and  the  most  intense  of  them 
all  was  for  this  place,  her  birthplace,  where  she  had  passed 
her  youth.  This  attachment  was  increased  in  her  case  by  a 


156 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


strong,  deep,  and  poetic  sentiment  that  I hardly  like  to  call 
aristocratic,  because  that  word  will  have  other  associations 
(of  pride  in  expensive  living)  for  most  readers.  My  aunt 
had  the  true  sentiment  of  ancestry,  and  it  was  painful  to  her 
to  see  a place  go  out  of  a family.  I have  the  same  sentiment, 
though  with  less  intensity,  and  there  were  other  reasons  that 
made  me  love  Hollins  very  much.  At  that  time  the  natural 
beauty  that  surrounded  it  was  quite  unspoilt.  We  were  near 
to  the  streams  and  the  moors  that  I delighted  in,  and  the  idea 
of  being  obliged  to  leave,  as  we  might  be  at  any  time  by  the 
new  proprietor,  was  painful  to  a degree  that  only  lovers  of 
nature  will  understand. 

Even  now,  in  my  fifty-fourth  year,  I very  often  dream 
about  Hollins,  about  the  old  garden  there,  and  the  fields  and 
woods,  and  the  rocky  stream.  Sometimes  the  place  is  sadly 
and  stupidly  altered  in  my  dream,  and  I am  irritated;  at 
other  times  it  is  improved  and  enriched,  and  the  very  land- 
scape is  idealized  into  a nobler  and  more  perfect  beauty. 

I need  only  add  to  this  account  of  my  uncle’s  emigration, 
that  when  he  landed  on  the  shores  of  New  Zealand  in  much 
perplexity  as  to  where  he  should  go  to  find  a temporary  lodg- 
ing, a colonist  met  him,  and  said  that  he  had  been  told  by 
the  Masonic  authorities  to  receive  him  fraternally.  This  he 
did  by  taking  the  whole  family  under  his  roof  and  entertain- 
ing them  as  if  they  had  been  old  friends,  thereby  giving  my 
uncle  ample  time  to  make  his  own  arrangements.  In  a later 
chapter  of  this  autobiography  I intend  to  give  a short  account 
of  what  happened  to  the  emigrants  afterwards. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


157 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

1854. 

Resignation  of  commission  in  the  militia.  — Work  from  nature.  — Spenser, 
the  poet.  — Hurstwood.  — Loch  Awe  revisited.  — A customer.  — I de- 
termine to  learn  French  well.  — A tour  in  Wales.  — Swimming.  — 
Coolness  on  account  of  my  religious  beliefs.  — My  guardian.  — Evil 
effects  of  religious  bigotry.  — Refuge  in  work.  — My  drawing-master. 
— Our  excursion  in  Craven. 


After  returning  to  the  country  I went  through  another 
militia  training,  and  soon  afterwards  resigned  my  commis- 
sion. According  to  my  present  views  of  things  I should 
probably  not  have  done  so,  as  it  would  be  a satisfaction  to  me 
now  to  feel  myself  of  some  definite  use  to  my  country,  even 
in  the  humble  capacity  of  a militia  officer;  but  in  those  days 
the  militia  was  not  taken  seriously  by  the  nation,  so  the 
officers  did  not  take  it  seriously  either,  and,  after  a brief  trial, 
a great  many  of  them  resigned.  The  recognized  motive  for 
going  into  the  militia  was  a social  motive,  and  as  I never  had 
any  social  ambition  it  mattered  nothing  to  me  that  there  were 
a few  men  of  rank  in  the  regiment.  I had  not  any  real  com- 
panions in  it,  for  I was  much  younger  than  most  of  my  brother 
officers,  and  it  is  likely  enough  that  the  society  of  an  inexpe- 
rienced youth  could  offer  no  attraction  to  them.  My  love 
of  my  chosen  studies  was  accompanied  by  a complete  indiffer- 
ence to  amusements,  so  that  the  cards  and  billiards  after  mess 
were  not  an  attraction  for  me , and  my  ignorance  of  field  sports 
has  always  made  me  feel  rather  a “ muff  ” and  a “ duffer  ” in 
the  society  of  country  gentlemen. 

The  Colonel  was  always  kind  to  me,  and  as  I looked  older 
than  my  age,  he  quite  forgot  how  young  I was  and  procured 
for  me  a captain’s  commission.  As  a matter  of  fact,  I believe 
that  a minor  cannot  hold  a militia  captaincy,  because  it 


158 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


requires  a property  qualification.  Somehow,  the  Colonel  was 
afterwards  reminded  of  my  age,  and  then  thought  he  had 
made  a mistake;  however,  my  resignation  rectified  it.  In 
fairness  to  myself  it  may  be  added  that  my  military  work  was 
always  done  in  a manner  that  gained  the  approval  of  our  real 
master,  the  adjutant. 

One  cause  that  certainly  influenced  me  in  leaving  the  regi- 
ment was  the  necessity  for  appearing  to  be  either  a member 
of  the  Church  of  England  or  a member  of  the  Church  of 
Rome.  As  I belonged  to  neither,  I felt  it  a hardship  to  be 
compelled  to  march  to  church  every  Sunday,  and  go  through 
the  forms  of  the  service.  It  will,  of  course,  seem  absurd  to 
any  man  of  the  world  that  such  a trifle  should  have  any 
weight  whatever.  Nobody  endowed  with  what  men  of  the 
World  call  “ common-sense  ” ever  hesitates  about  going  through 
forms  and  ceremonies,  when  he  can  maintain  or  increase  his 
worldly  position  by  doing  so.  As  for  me,  I make  no  claim 
to  superior  virtue,  but  cannot  help  feeling  an  invincible 
repugnance  to  these  shams.  My  own  line  had  been  chosen 
when  I refused  to  go  to  Oxford  and  sign  the  Thirty -nine 
Articles ; the  forced  conformity  in  the  militia  was  a deflection 
of  the  compass,  but  it  has  pointed  straight  ever  since,  and 
may  it  point  straight  to  the  end! 

When  free  again,  I set  to  work  from  nature,  applying  what 
Pettitt  had  taught  me.  I drew  and  painted  studies  of  rocks 
with  great  fidelity,  and  as  rocks  are  hard  things,  and  my  work 
was  as  hard  as  possible,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  so  far  it 
was  like  nature.  Pettitt  had  strengthened  the  positive  and 
scientific  tendency  that  there  is  in  me,  so  that  I was  quite 
ardent  in  the  pursuit  of  the  rigid  and  measurable  truths, 
neither  knowing  nor  caring  anything  about  those  more  subtle 
and  less  manifest  truths  that  the  cultivated  artist  loves. 
However,  I painted  away  diligently  enough  from  nature,  giv- 
ing two  long  sittings  each  day,  and  writing  only  in  the  even- 
ings. My  readings  at  this  time  were  chiefly  in  Shakespeare 
and  Spenser. 

I may  have  been  attracted  to  Spenser  partly  by  the  belief, 
greatly  encouraged  by  the  local  antiquaries,  that  the  famous 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


159 


Elizabethan  poet  lived  for  some  time  with  relations  of  his  at 
Hurstwood,  — a hamlet  by  the  side  of  the  same  stream  that 
passes  by  Hollins  and  a mile  or  two  above  it.  The  old 
houses  at  Hurstwood  remained  as  they  were  in  Spenser’s 
time,  and  the  particular  one  is  known  where  his  reputed 
family  lived.1  As  you  ascend  the  stream  beyond  Hurstwood, 
you  approach  the  open  moors,  which  were  always  a delight  to 
me.  The  love  of  the  stream  and  the  hills  beyond  frequently 
led  me  to  pass  the  little  hamlet  where  Spenser  is  said  to  have 
lived,  and  in  this  way  he  seemed  to  belong  to  our  own  land- 
scape, since  he  must  have  wandered  by  the  same  river,  and 
looked  upon  the  same  hills.  So  as  a boy  whose  daily  wander- 
ings were  by  the  Avon  might  naturally  think  of  Shakespeare 
more  frequently  than  another,  my  thoughts  turned  often  to 
the  author  of  the  “ Faerie  Queene.  ” I never  read  that  poem 
steadily  and  fairly  through,  but  I strayed  about  in  it,  which 
is  the  right  way  of  reading  it. 

My  own  pursuit  of  poetry  at  that  time  led  me  to  think  of  a 
poem  founded  on  the  legends  of  Loch  Awe.  To  penetrate  my 
mind  more  completely  with  the  genius  of  the  place,  I went 
there  in  the  summer  of  1854,  and  worked  at  the  poem,  besides 
drawing  some  illustrations,  of  which  a few  were  afterwards 
engraved.  Notwithstanding  a great  liking  for  Loch  Awe, 
my  stay  there  was  not  particularly  agreeable.  I lived,  of 
course,  at  the  inns,  which  were  not  very  good,  and  having  no 
companion,  not  even  a servant,  I felt  rather  dull  and  lonely, 
especially  on  the  wet  days.  A well-known  London  banker 
was  staying  at  the  inn  of  Cladich  at  the  same  time  with  me, 
so  we  became  acquainted,  and  he  wished  to  purchase  one  of 
my  studies;  but  as  I intended  to  keep  them  all,  I declined. 
This  was  very  foolish,  as  it  would  have  been  easy  to  do 
another  of  the  same  subject  for  myself,  and  the  mere  fact  of 
selling  would  have  been  a practical  encouragement,  especially 

1 The  presumptive  evidence  in  favor  of  the  theory  that  Spenser  stayed 
at  Hurstwood  is  very  strong,  and  of  various  kinds.  The  reader  who  takes 
any  interest  in  the  subject  is  referred  to  the  “ Transactions  of  the  Burnley 
Literarv  and  Scientific  Club,”  vol.  iv.,  1886,  where  he  will  find  a wood-cut 
of  the  house  that  once  belonged  to  the  Spensers  of  Hurstwood. 


160 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


as  that  purchase  would  probably  have  been  followed  by  others. 
The  very  smallest  beginnings  are  of  importance.  It  is  much 
for  a young  artist  to  get  a few  pounds  fairly  offered  by  a 
customer  who  knows  nothing  about  him  except  his  work,  and 
is  actuated  by  no  motives  of  friendship. 

Another  visitor  at  the  same  inn  exercised  upon  me  an  influ- 
ence of  a very  different  kind.  He  had  a young  daughter  with 
him,  and  to  keep  the  girl  in  practice  he  constantly  spoke 
French  to  her.  I had  studied  the  language  more  than  most 
English  boys  do,  and  yet  I found  myself  totally  unable  to 
follow  those  French  conversations.  This  plagued  me  with  an 
irritating  sense  of  ignorance,  so  I looked  back  on  my  educa- 
tion generally,  and  found  it  unsatisfactory.  Being  conscious 
that  my  classical  attainments  were  not  very  valuable,  I deter- 
mined to  acquire  some  substantial  knowledge  of  modern  lan- 
guages, and  to  begin  by  learning  French  over  again,  so  as  to 
write  and  speak  it  easily.  This  resolution  remained  in  my 
mind  as  irrevocably  settled,  and  was  afterwards  completely 
carried  out. 

As  I shall  have  a good  deal  to  say  about  Loch  Awe  in 
future  pages  of  this  book,  I omit  all  description  of  it  here. 
Many  of  the  days  spent  there  in  1854  were  rainy , and  I sat 
alone  writing  my  poem  in  a little  bedroom  on  the  ground- 
floor  of  the  inn  at  Cladich.  Of  all  literary  work  versification 
is  the  most  absorbing,  and  if  it  is  good  for  nothing  else,  it  has 
at  least  the  merit  of  getting  one  well  through  a rainy  day. 

On  my  return  from  Scotland,  I accompanied  my  guardian  and 
her  sister  on  a tour  in  Wales.  We  revisited  Rhyl  and  some 
other  places  that  I had  seen  with  my  father,  including  Caer- 
narvon. This  tour  was  of  no  importance  in  itself;  but  as  from 
Scotland  I had  brought  the  resolution  that  made  me  seriously 
study  French,  so  from  Caernarvon  I brought  a resolution  to 
master  the  art  of  swimming.  Being  in  the  water  one  morning, 
I suddenly  found  that  I could  swim  after  a fashion,  and  this 
led  to  more  serious  efforts.  Our  stream  at  home  was  delightful 
for  mere  bathing ; but  the  rocks  were  an  impediment  to  active 
exercise.  I afterwards  became  an  accomplished  swimmer,  and 
could  do  various  tricks  in  the  water,  such  as  reading  aloud  from 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


161 


a book  held  in  both  hands,  or  swimming  in  clothes  and  heavy- 
boots,  with  one  hand  out  of  the  water  carrying  a paddle  and 
drawing  a canoe  after  me.  I have  often  carried  one  of  my  little 
boys  on  my  shoulders ; but  they  are  now  better  swimmers  than 
myself,  and  the  eldest  has  saved  several  men  from  drowning. 
It  is  an  immense  comfort,  if  nothing  else,  to  be  perfectly  at 
home  in  the  water,  and  it  has  increased  my  pleasure  in  boating 
a hundred-fold. 

There  is  nothing  further  of  importance  to  be  noted  for  the 
year  1854,  except  that  I began  to  perceive  a certain  coolness, 
or  what  the  French  call  eloignement , in  our  friends,  which  I 
attributed  to  my  religious  opinions.  I never  obtruded  my 
opinions  on  any  one,  but  did  not  conceal  them  beneath  the 
usual  conventional  observances,  so  that  our  neighbors  became 
aware  that  I did  not  think  in  a strictly  orthodox  manner, 
though  they  were  in  fact  completely  ignorant  of  the  true 
nature  of  my  beliefs.  I remember  one  interesting  test  of  my 
changed  position  in  society.  There  was  a certain  great  country 
house  where  I had  been  on  the  most  intimate  terms  from  child- 
hood, where  the  boys  called  me  by  my  Christian  name,  as  I 
called  them  by  theirs,  and  where  my  guardian  and  I were  from 
time  to  time  invited  to  dine,  and  sometimes  to  spend  a day  or 
two.  When  our  militia  regiment  was  in  training,  the  owner 
of  this  house  invited  the  officers  to  a grand  dinner,  and  I,  an 
old  intimate  friend,  was  omitted.  It  was  impossible  that  this 
omission  could  have  been  accidental,  and  it  was  impossible  not 
to  perceive  it.  I afterwards  learned  that  my  religious  views 
were  regarded  with  disapproval  in  that  house,  and  there,  of 
course,  the  matter  rested.  At  the  same  time,  or  soon  after- 
wards, I noticed  that  invitations  from  certain  other  houses  also 
came  to  an  end,  a matter  of  little  consequence  to  me  person- 
ally ; but  I thought  that  it  might  indirectly  be  injurious  to  my 
guardian  and  her  sister,  and  began  to  feel  that  I had  become  a 
sort  of  social  disgrace  and  impediment  for  them. 

It  was  probably  about  this  time  that  my  guardian  bought  for 
me  some  religious  books,  in  which  heterodox  opinions  were 
represented  as  being  invariably  the  result  of  wickedness.  I 
said  it  was  a pity  that  religious  writers  could  not  learn  to  be 

11 


162 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


more  just,  as  heterodoxy  might  he  due  to  simple  intellectual 
differences.  My  guardian  answered  that  she  could  perceive  no 
injustice  whatever  in  the  statement  that  I complained  of.  This 
was  infinitely  painful  to  me,  as  coming  from  the  person  I most 
loved  and  esteemed  in  all  the  world.  Another  incident  embit- 
tered my  existence  for  some  time.  I had  an  intimate  friend  in 
Burnley,  and  my  guardian  said  that  she  regretted  this  intimacy, 
not  for  any  harm  that  my  friend  was  likely  to  do  me,  hut 
because  with  my  “ lamentable  opinions  ” I might  corrupt  his 
mind.  My  answer  to  attacks  of  this  kind  has  always  been 
simple  silence;  when  they  came  from  other  people  I treated 
them  with  unfeigned  indifference;  hut  when  they  came  from 
that  one  dear  person,  whose  affection  I valued  more  than  all 
honors  and  all  fame,  they  cut  me  to  the  quick,  and  then  I 
knew  by  cruel  experience  what  a dreadful  evil  religious  bigotry 
is.  For  what  had  I ever  said  or  done  to  deserve  censure?  I 
had  as  good  a right  to  my  opinions  as  other  people  had  to  theirs, 
yet  I kept  them  within  my  own  breast,  and  avoided  even  the 
shadow  of  offence.  My  only  crime  was  the  negative  one  of 
nonconformity.  Even  in  my  latter  years,  the  same  old  spirit 
of  intolerance  pursues  me.  The  nearest  relation  I have  left  in 
England  said  to  my  wife  that  she  hoped  my  books  had  not  an 
extensive  sale,  so  that  their  evil  influence  might  be  as  narrowly 
restricted  as  possible.  As  for  her,  she  would  not  even  look  into 
them.1 

My  refuge  in  those  days  was  that  best  of  all  refuges  — occu- 
pation. I was  constantly  at  work  on  my  different  pursuits, 
and  led  a very  healthy  life  at  Hollins.  The  greatest  objection 
to  it  was  an  evil  that  I have  had  to  put  up  with  in  several 
different  places,  and  that  is  intellectual  isolation,  especially  on 
the  side  of  art.  I had  nobody  to  speak  to  on  that  subject, 
except  my  old  drawing-master,  Mr.  Henry  Palmer.  He  had 

1 In  writing  this  autobiography  I often  suddenly  remember  some  for- 
gotten incident  of  past  times.  Here  is  one  that  has  just  occurred  to  me. 
When  walking  out  in  1853,  I met  a boy  who  shouted  after  me,  “ 1 ou  ’re 
the  fellow  that  thinks  we  are  all  like  rats ! ” He  had  probably  heard  my 
opinions  discussed  in  his  family  circle  — how  justly  and  how  intelligently 
his  exclamation  shows. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


163 


inevitably  fallen  into  the  usual  routine  of  futile  teaching,  which 
is  the  fault  of  an  uneducated  public  opinion,  and  of  which  the 
drawing-masters  themselves  are  the  first  victims,  so  I did  not 
take  lessons  from  him ; but  he  felt  a warm  and  earnest  interest 
in  the  fine  arts,  and  we  talked  about  old  masters  and  modern 
masters  for  hours  together  in  my  study  at  Hollins,  and  in  our 
walks.  We  once  made  a delightful  sketching  excursion  to- 
gether into  the  district  of  Craven,  and  I remember  that  at 
Bolton  Abbey  we  met  with  a wonderful  German  who  could 
sit  in  the  presence  of  nature  and  coolly  make  trees  according 
to  a mechanical  recipe.  He  might  just  as  well  have  drawn  the 
scenery  of  the  Wharf e in  the  heart  of  Berlin. 


164 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

1855. 

Publication  of  “ The  Isles  of  Loch  Awe  and  other  Poems.”  — Their  sale.  — 
Advice  to  poetic  aspirants.  — Mistake  in  illustrating  my  book  of  verse. 
— Its  subsequent  history.  — Want  of  art  in  the  book.  — Too  much 
reality.  — Abandonment  of  verse.  — A critic  in  “Fraser.”  — Visit  to 
Paris  in  1855.  — Captain  Turnbull.  — Ball  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville. — 
Louis  Napoleon  and  Victor  Emmanuel. 

My  volume,  “ The  Isles  of  Loch  Awe  and  other  Poems,” 
appeared  the  day  I came  of  age,  September  10,  1855.  It  was 
published  at  my  own  expense,  in  an  edition  of  two  thousand 
copies,  of  which  exactly  eleven  were  sold  in  the  real  literary 
market.  The  town  of  Burnley  took  thirty-six  copies,  from 
a friendly  interest  in  the  author,  and  deserves  my  deepest 
gratitude  — not  that  the  thirty-six  copies  quite  paid  the 
expenses  of  publication! 

Perhaps  some  poetic  aspirant  may  read  these  pages,  and  if 
he  does,  he  may  accept  a word  of  advice. 

The  difficulty  in  publishing  poems  is  to  get  them  fully  and 
fairly  read  and  considered  by  some  publisher  of  real  eminence 
in  the  trade.  It  is  difficult  to  appreciate  poetry  in  manuscript, 
and  there  is  such  a natural  tendency  to  refuse  anything  in  the 
form  of  metre,  that  it  is  well  to  smooth  the  way  for  it  as  much 
as  possible.  I would,  therefore,  if  I had  to  begin  again,  get 
my  poems  put  into  type,  and  a private  edition  of  one  hundred 
copies  should  be  printed.  A few  of  these  being  sent  to  the 
leading  publishers,  I should  very  soon  ascertain  whether  any 
one  of  them  was  inclined  to  bring  out  the  work.  If  they  all 
declined,  my  loss  would  be  the  smallest  possible,  and  I should 
possess  a few  copies  of  a rare  book.  If  one  publisher  accepted, 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


165 


I should  get  an  appeal  to  the  public,  which  is  all  that  a young 
author  wants.1 

I committed  a great  error  in  illustrating  my  book  of  verse. 
The  illustrations  only  set  up  a conflict  of  interest  with  the 
poetry,  and  did  no  good  whatever  to  the  sale,  whilst  they 
vastly  increased  the  cost  of  publication.  Poetry  is  an  in- 
dependent art,  and  if  it  cannot  stand  on  its  own  merits,  the 
reason  must  be  that  it  is  destitute  of  vitality. 

The  subsequent  history  of  this  volume  of  poems  is  worth 
telling  to  those  who  take  an  interest  in  hooks.  It  was  pub- 
lished at  six  shillings,  and  as  the  sale  had  been  extremely 
small,  I reduced  the  price  to  half-a-crown.  The  reduction 
brought  on  a sale  of  about  three  hundred  copies,  and  there 
it  stopped.  I then  disposed  of  the  entire  remainder  to  a whole- 
sale buyer  of  “ remainders  ” for  the  modest  sum  of  sixpence  per 
copy.  Since  I have  become  known  as  a writer  of  prose,  many 
people  have  sought  out  this  book  of  verse,  with  the  wonderful 
and  unforeseen  result  that  it  has  resumed  its  original  price.  I 
myself  have  purchased  copies  for  five  shillings  each  that  I had 
sold  for  sixpence  (not  a profitable  species  of  commerce),  and 
I have  been  told  that  the  book  is  now  worth  six  shillings, 
exactly  my  original  estimate  of  its  possible  value  to  an  enlight- 
ened and  discriminating  public. 

Emerson  wrote  that  the  English  had  many  poetical  writers, 
but  no  poet,  and  this  at  a time  when  Tennyson  was  already 
famous.  The  same  spirit  of  exclusion,  in  a minor  degree,  will 
deny  the  existence  of  all  poets  except  three,  or  perhaps  four, 
in  a generation.  It  would  be  presumptuous  to  hope  to  be  one 
of  the  three ; but  I do  not  think  it  was  presumptuous  in  me  to 
hope  for  some  readers  for  my  verse.  As  this  autobiography 
approached  that  early  publication,  I read  the  volume  over 
again,  with  a fresh  eye,  after  an  interval  of  many  years,  ex- 
actly as  if  it  had  been  written  by  somebody  else.  There  is 
poetry  in  the  verse,  and  there  is  prose  also,  my  fault  having 
been,  at  that  time,  that  I was  unable  to  discriminate  between 

1 A single  copy  clearly  printed  by  the  type-writing  machine  would 
now  be  almost  as  good  for  the  purpose  as  a small  privately  printed  edition. 


166 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


the  two.  I had  not  the  craft  and  art  to  make  the  most  of 
such  poetical  ideas  as  were  really  my  own.  These  defects  are 
natural  enough  in  a very  young  writer  who  could  not  possibly 
have  much  literary  skill.  Amongst  other  marks  of  its  absence, 
or  deficiency,  must  be  reckoned  the  facility  with  which  I 
allowed  the  mere  matter-of-fact  to  get  into  my  verse,  not 
being  clearly  aware  that  the  matter-of-fact  is  death  to  poetic 
art,  and  that  nothing  whatever  is  admissible  into  poetry  with- 
out being  first  idealized.  Another  cause  of  inferiority  was  that 
my  emotions  were  too  real.  The  consequence  of  reality  in 
emotion  is  very  curious,  being  exactly  the  contrary  of  what 
one  would  naturally  expect.  Real  emotion  expresses  itself 
simply  and  briefly,  and  often  quite  feebly  and  inadequately.1 
The  result,  of  course,  is  that  the  reader’s  feelings  are  not 
played  upon  sufficiently  to  excite  them.  Feigned,  or  artistic 
emotion,  on  the  contrary,  leaves  the  poetic  artist  in  the  fullest 
possession  of  all  his  means  of  influence,  and  he  works  upon 
the  reader’s  feelings  by  slow  or  by  sudden  effects  at  his  own 
choice.2 

The  failure  of  “ The  Isles  of  Loch  Awe  ” occasioned  me 
rather  a heavy  loss,  which  had  the  effect  of  making  me 
economical  for  two  or  three  years,  during  which  I did  not 
even  keep  a horse.  I also  came  to  the  conclusion  that  no- 
body wanted  my  verses,  and  (not  having  either  the  inspiration 
of  Shelley  and  Keats,  or  the  dogged  determination  of  Words- 
worth) I gave  up  writing  verse  altogether,  and  that  with  a sud- 
denness and  completeness  that  astonishes  me  now.  Young 
men  are  extreme  in  their  hopes  and  in  their  discouragements. 
I had  expected  to  sell  two  thousand  copies  of  a book  of  poetry 
by  a totally  unknown  writer,  and  because  I did  not  immediately 

1 Amongst  the  uneducated  genuine  emotion  is  often  voluble ; hut  poets 
usually  belong  to  the  educated  classes. 

2 Two  diametrically  opposite  opinions  on  this  subject  are  held  by 
actors,  some  of  whom  think  that  in  their  profession  emotion  ought  to 
be  real,  others  that  it  ought  to  be  feigned.  I know  nothing  about 
acting;  but  have  always  found  in  literature  and  art,  and  even  in  the 
intercourse  of  life,  that  my  own  real  emotions  expressed  themselves  very 
inadequately. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


167 


succeed  in  the  hopeless  attempt  I must  needs  break  with  litera- 
ture altogether!  It  did  not  occur  to  me  to  pursue  the  art  of 
prose  composition,  which  is  quite  as  interesting  as  that  of 
verse,  and  ten  times  more  rewarding  in  every  sense. 

My  book  had  been,  on  the  whole,  very  kindly  received  by 
the  reviews,  and  a very  odd  incident  occurred  in  connection 
with  a well-known  periodical.  At  that  time  “ Fraser’s  Maga- 
zine” was  one  of  the  great  authorities,  and  a contributor  to  it 
was  so  pleased  with  my  poems  that  he  determined  to  write  an 
important  article  upon  them.  One  of  his  friends  knew  of  this 
intention,  and  told  me.  He  revealed  to  the  contributor,  acci- 
dentally, that  he  had  given  me  this  piece  of  information,  on 
which  the  contributor  at  once  replied  that  since  the  author  of 
the  volume  had  been  made  aware  that  it  was  to  be  reviewed,  it 
was  evident  that  his  knowledge  of  the  fact  had  made  it  im- 
possible to  write  the  article.  Does  the  reader  perceive  the 
impossibility  1 I confess  that  it  is  invisible  for  me.  However, 
by  this  trifling  incident  my  book  missed  a most  important  re- 
view, which,  at  that  time,  might  have  classed  it  amongst  the 
noticeable  publications  of  the  period. 

My  commercial  non-success  in  poetry  threw  me  back  more 
decidedly  upon  painting,  and  this  in  combination  with  the 
resolution  to  learn  French  well,  of  which  something  has  been  al- 
ready said,  made  me  go  to  Paris  in  the  autumn  of  1855.  I was  at 
that  time  so  utterly  ignorant  of  modern  languages,  as  they  are 
spoken,  that  in  the  train  between  Calais  and  Paris  I could  not 
be  certain,  until  I was  told  by  an  Englishman  who  was  more 
of  a linguist  than  myself,  which  of  my  fellow-travellers  were 
speaking  French  and  which  Italian.  I made  such  good  use  of 
my  time  in  Paris  that  when  returning  to  England  on  the  same 
railway,  after  the  short  interval  of  three  months,  I spoke 
French  fluently  (though  not  correctly)  for  the  greater  part  of 
the  way,  and  did  not  miss  a syllable  that  was  said  to  me. 

I had  no  knowledge  of  Paris  and  its  hotels,  so  let  myself  be 
guided  by  a fellow-traveller.  We  went  to  the  Hotel  du  Louvre, 
then  so  new  that  it  smelt  of  plaster  and  paint.  In  those  days, 
big,  splendid  hotels  were  almost  unknown  in  Europe.  The  vast 
dining-hall,  with  its  palatial  decoration,  impressed  my  inexpe- 


168 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


rience  very  strongly.  During  my  stay  in  the  Hotel  du  Louvre, 
I made  the  acquaintance  of  some  English  officers.  One  was  a 
splendid-looking  man  of  about  twenty-eight,  physically  the 
finest  Englishman  I was  ever  personally  acquainted  with,  and 
another  was  a much  older  and  more  experienced  officer  on 
leave  of  absence  from  India,  where  he  ruled  over  a considerable 
territory.  His  name  was  Turnbull,  and  I have  been  told  since 
by  another  Indian  officer,  that  Captain  Turnbull  was  the 
original  of  Colonel  Newcome.  Certainly,  he  was  one  of  the 
kindest,  most  amiable,  and  most  unpretending  gentlemen  I 
ever  met.  These  two  officers  were  invited  to  the  ball  at  the 
Hotel  de  Ville  that  was  given  by  the  Parisian  municipality  to 
the  Emperor  and  King  Victor  Emmanuel,  and  it  happened  that 
the  young  military  Adonis  had  not  his  uniform  with  him, 
whilst  the  idea  of  going  to  the  ball  without  it,  and  appearing 
only  like  a commonplace  civilian,  was  so  vexatious  as  to  be 
inadmissible.  He  therefore  refused  to  go,  and  transferred  his 
card  to  me;  so  I went  with  Captain  Turnbull,  who  had  a 
cocked  hat  like  a general,  and  was  taken  for  one.  Some 
Erench  people,  by  a stretch  of  imagination,  even  took  him  for 
Prince  Albert ! 

The  H6tel  de  Ville  was  very  splendid  on  a night  of  that 
kind,  and  when,  long  afterwards,  I saw  it  as  a blackened  ruin, 
the  details  of  that  past  splendor  all  came  back  to  me.  The 
most  interesting  moment  was  when  the  crowd  of  guests  formed 
in  two  lines  in  the  great  ball-room,  and  the  Emperor  and  King 
took  their  places  for  a short  time  on  two  thrones,  after  which 
they  slowly  walked  down  the  open  space.  I happened  to  be 
standing  near  a Erench  general,  who  kindly  spoke  a few  words 
to  me,  and  just  after  that  the  Emperor  came  and  shook  hands 
with  him,  asking  a friendly  question.  In  this  way  I saw  Louis 
Napoleon  very  plainly;  but  the  more  interesting  of  the  two 
souvenirs  for  me  is  certainly  that  of  the  immortal  leader  of  men 
who  was  afterwards  the  first  King  of  Italy.  As  for  Louis 
Napoleon,  the  sight  of  him  in  his  glory  called  to  mind  an  anec- 
dote told  of  him  by  Major  Towneley  in  our  regiment.  When 
an  exile  in  London,  he  spoke  to  the  major  of  some  project  that 
he  would  put  into  execution  quandje  serai  Empereur.  “ Do 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


169 


you  really  still  cherish  hopes  of  that  kind  ? ” asked  the  sceptical 
Englishman.  “ They  are  not  merely  hopes,  ” answered  Louis 
Napoleon,  “but  a certainty.”  He  believed  firmly  in  the  re- 
establishment of  the  Empire,  but  had  no  faith  whatever  in  its 
permanence.  This  uneasy  apprehension  of  a fall  was  publicly 
betrayed  afterwards  by  the  unnecessary  plebiscitum.  In  a con- 
versation with  a French  supporter  of  the  Empire,  Louis  Napoleon 
said,  “ So  long  as  I am  necessary  my  power  will  remain  un- 
shakable, hut  when  my  hour  comes  I shall  be  broken  like 
glass ! ” He  believed  himself  to  be  simply  an  instrument  in 
the  hands  of  Providence  that  would  be  thrown  away  when  no 
longer  of  any  use. 

We  who  saw  the  sovereigns  of  France  and  Sardinia  walking 
down  that  ball-room  together,  little  imagined  what  would  he 
the  ultimate  consequences  of  their  alliance  — the  establishment 
of  the  Italian  kingdom,  then  of  the  German  Empire,  with  the 
siege  of  Paris,  the  Commune,  and  the  total  destruction  of  the 
building  that  dazzled  us  by  its  splendor,  and  of  the  palace  where 
the  sovereigns  slept  that  night. 

Now  they  sleep  far  apart,  — one  in  the  Pantheon  of  ancient 
Pome,  in  the  midst  of  the  Italian  people,  who  hold  his  name 
in  everlasting  honor;  the  other  in  an  exile’s  grave  in  England, 
with  a name  upon  it  that  is  execrated  from  Boulogne  to 
Strasburg,  and  from  Calais  to  Marseilles. 


170 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

1855. 

Thackeray’s  family  in  Paris.  — Madame  Mohl.  — Her  husband’s  encour- 
aging theory  about  learning  languages.  — Mr.  Scholey. — His  friend, 
William  Wyld.  — An  Indian  in  Europe.  — An  Italian  adventuress.  — 
Important  meeting  with  an  American.  — Its  consequences.  — I go  to  a 
French  hotel.  — People  at  the  table  d'hote.  — M.  Victor  Ouvrard.  — 
His  claim  on  the  Emperor.  — M.  Gindriez.  — His  family.  — His  eldest 
daughter. 

Captain  Turnbull  knew  some  English  people  in  the  colony 
at  Paris,  so  he  introduced  me  to  two  or  three  houses,  and  if 
my  object  had  been  to  speak  English  instead  of  French,  I 
might  have  gone  into  the  Anglo-Parisian  society  of  that  day. 
One  house  was  interesting  to  me,  that  of  Thackeray’s  mother, 
Mrs.  Carmichael  Smith.  Her  second  husband,  the  major,  was 
still  living,  and  she  was  a vigorous  and  majestic  elderly  lady. 
She  talked  to  me  about  her  son,  and  his  pursuit  of  art,  but  I 
do  not  remember  that  she  told  me  anything  that  the  public  has 
not  since  learned  from  other  sources.  I soon  discovered  that 
she  had  very  decided  views  on  the  subject  of  religion,  and  that 
she  looked  even  upon  Unitarians  with  reprobation,  especially 
as  they  might  be  infidels  in  disguise.  My  own  subsequent  ex- 
perience of  the  world  has  led  me  to  perceive  that,  when  infidels 
wear  a cloak,  they  generally  put  on  a more  useful  and  fashion- 
able one  than  that  of  Unitarianism  — they  assume  the  religion 
that  can  best  help  them  to  get  on  in  the  world.  However,  I 
was  not  going  to  argue  such  a point  with  a lady  who  was  con- 
siderably my  senior,  and  I was  constantly  in  expectation  of 
being  examined  about  my  own  religious  views,  knowing  that  it 
would  be  impossible  for  me  to  give  satisfactory  answers.  I 
therefore  decided  that  it  would  be  better  to  keep  out  of  Mrs. 
Carmichael  Smith’s  way,  and  learned  afterwards  that  she  had  a 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


171 


reputation  for  asserting  the  faith  that  was  in  her,  and  for  ex- 
pressing her  disapproval  of  everybody  who  believed  less.  For 
my  part,  I confess  to  a cowardly  dread  of  elderly  religious 
Englishwomen.  They  have  examined  me  many  a time,  and  I 
have  never  come  out  of  the  ordeal  with  satisfaction,  either  to 
them  or  to  myself. 

Thackeray’s  three  daughters  were  in  Paris  at  that  time.  I 
remember  Miss  Thackeray  quite  distinctly.  She  struck  me  as 
a young  lady  of  uncommon  sense  and  penetration,  and  it  was 
not  at  all  a surprise  to  me  when  she  afterwards  became  distin- 
guished in  literature.  Thackeray  himself  was  in  London,  so  I 
did  not  meet  him. 

I went  occasionally  in  the  evening  to  see  that  remarkable 
woman,  Madame  Mohl.  She  was  the  oddest-looking  little 
figure,  with  her  original  notions  about  toilette,  to  which  she 
was  by  no  means  indifferent.  In  the  year  1855  she  still  con- 
sidered herself  a very  young  woman,  and  indeed  was  so,  rela- 
tively to  the  great  age  she  was  destined  to  attain.  After  I had 
been  about  six  weeks  in  Paris,  her  husband  gave  me  the  first 
bit  of  really  valuable  encouragement  about  speaking  French 
that  I had  received  from  any  one. 

“ Can  you  follow  what  is  said  by  others  1 ” 

"Yes,  easily.” 

“Very  well;  then  you  may  be  free  from  all  anxiety  about 
speaking  — you  will  certainly  speak  in  due  time.” 

An  eccentric  but  thoroughly  manly  and  honest  Englishman, 
named  Scholey,  was  staying  at  the  Hdtel  du  Louvre  at  the 
same  time  with  Captain  Turnbull.  He  was  an  old  bachelor, 
and  looked  upon  marriage  as  a snare;  but  I learned  afterwards 
that  he  had  been  in  love  at  an  earlier  period  of  his  existence, 
and  that  the  engagement  had  been  broken  off  by  the  friends  of 
the  young  lady,  because  Scholey  combined  the  two  great  defects 
of  honesty  and  thinking  for  himself  in  religious  matters.  So 
long  as  people  prefer  sneaks  and  hypocrites  to  straightforward 
characters  like  Scholey,  such  men  are  likely  to  be  kept  out  of 
polite  society.  A dishonest  man  will  profess  any  opinion  that 
you  please,  or  that  is  likely  to  please  you,  so  long  as  it  will  ad- 
vance his  interest.  If,  therefore,  a lover  runs  the  risk  of 


172 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


breaking  off  a marriage  rather  than  turn  hypocrite,  it  is  clear 
that  his  sense  of  honor  has  borne  a crucial  test. 

“ I had  not  loved  thee,  dear,  so  much, 

Loved  I not  honor  more ! ” 

Scholey  spoke  French  fluently,  and,  as  he  lived  on  the  edge 
of  England,  he  often  crossed  over  into  France.  I deeply 
regret  not  to  have  seen  much  more  of  him.  One  of  his  acts 
of  kindness,  in  1855,  was  to  take  me  to  see  his  old  friend 
William  Wyld,  the  painter,  with  whom  I soon  became 
acquainted,  and  who  is  still  one  of  my  best  and  most  attached 
friends.  Wyld  lived  and  worked  at  that  time  in  the  same 
studio,  in  the  Rue  Blanche,  where  he  is  still  living  and 
working  in  this  present  year  (1887) , an  octogenarian  with  the 
health  and  faculties  of  a man  of  fifty. 

There  was,  in  those  days,  an  Indian  staying  at  the  Hotel 
du  Louvre,  who  spoke  English  very  well,  but  not  French,  so 
he  was  working  at  French  diligently  with  a master.  This 
Indian  was  always  called  “ the  Prince  ” in  the  hotel,  though 
he  was  not  a prince  at  all,  and  never  pretended  to  be  one,  but 
disclaimed  the  title  whenever  he  had  a chance.  He  lived 
rather  expensively,  but  without  the  least  ostentation,  and  had 
very  quiet  manners.  He  progressed  well  with  his  French 
studies,  but  did  not  stay  long  enough  to  master  the  language. 
I was  very  much  interested  in  him,  as  a young  man  is  in  all 
that  is  strange  and  a little  romantic.  He  talked  about  India 
with  great  apparent  frankness,  saying,  that  naturally  the 
Indians  desired  national  independence,  but  were  too  much 
divided  amongst  themselves  to  be  likely  to  attain  it  in  our 
time.  The  Mutiny  broke  out  rather  more  than  a year  after- 
wards, and  then  I remembered  these  conversations. 

“ The  Prince”  had  some  precious  and -curious  things  with 
him,  which  he  showed  me;  but  his  extreme  dislike  to  attract- 
ing attention  made  him  dress  quite  plainly  at  all  times, 
especially  when  he  went  out,  which  was  usually  in  a small 
brougham.  Now  and  then  an  English  official,  from  India, 
or  some  military  officer,  would  call  upon  him,  and  sometimes 
they  spoke  Arabic  or  Hindostanee. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


173 


There  was  a lady  at  the  hotel  who  has  always  remained  in 
my  memory  as  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  human  beings 
I ever  met.  She  was  an  Italian,  good-looking,  yet  neither 
pretty  nor  handsome,  and,  above  all,  intelligent-looking. 
She  dressed  with  studiously  quiet  taste,  and  used  to  dine  at 
the  table  d’hote  with  the  rest  of  us.  Besides  her  native 
Italian,  she  spoke  French  and  English  with  surprising  perfec- 
tion, and  her  manners  were  so  modest,  so  unexceptionable 
in  every  way,  that  no  one  not  in  the  secret  would  or  could 
have  suspected  her  real  business,  which  was  to  secure  a succes- 
sion of  temporary  husbands  in  the  most  respectable  maimer, 
and  without  leaving  the  hotel.  Her  linguistic  accomplish- 
ments gave  her  a wide  field  of  choice,  and  representatives  of 
various  nations  succeeded  each  other  at  irregular  but  never 
very  long  intervals.  As  I shall  be  dead  when  this  is  pub- 
lished, perhaps  it  may  be  as  well  to  say  that  I was  not  one 
of  the  series.  The  reader  may  believe  this  when  he  remem- 
bers that  I was  very  economical  for  the  time  being,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  loss  on  my  book  of  poems.  After  a while 
my  French  teacher  informed  me  that  M the  Prince  ” had  been 
caught  by  the  fair  Italian,  who  established  herself  quietly 
somewhere  in  his  suite  of  rooms.  People  did  not  think  this 
very  wrong  in  a Mahometan,  but  after  his  departure  from 
Paris  I happened  to  be  studying  some  old  Italian  religious 
pictures  in  the  Louvre,  and  suddenly  became  aware  that  the 
same  lady  was  looking  at  a Perugino  near  me.  This  time  she 
was  with  the  Prince’s  successor,  — a most  respectable  Eng- 
lish gentleman,  and  so  far  as  absolute  correctness  of  outward 
appearance  went,  there  was  not  a more  presentable  couple  in 
the  galleries.  It  is  my  opinion  that  she  succeeded  more  by 
her  good  manners  and  quiet  way  of  dressing  than  by  anything 
else.  She  must  have  been  a real  lady,  who  had  fallen  into 
that  way  of  life  in  consequence  of  a reverse  of  fortune. 

After  a while  I came  to  the  conclusion  that  I was  too  much 
with  English  people  at  the  Hotel  du  Louvre,  and  an  incident 
occurred  which  altered  the  whole  course  of  my  future  life, 
and  is  the  reason  why  I am  now  writing  this  book  in  France. 
I had  been  up  late  one  night  at  the  Opera,  and  the  next 


174 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


morning  rose  an  hour  later  than  usual.  An  American  came 
into  the  breakfast-room  of  the  hotel  and  found  me  taking  my 
chocolate.  Had  I risen  only  half-an-hour  earlier,  I should 
have  got  through  that  cup  of  chocolate  and  been  already  out 
in  the  streets  before  the  American  came  down.  To  have 
missed  him  would  have  been  never  to  know  my  wife,  never 
even  to  see  her  face,  as  the  reader  will  perceive  in  the  sequel, 
and  the  consequences  of  not  marrying  her  would  have  been  ' 
incalculable.  One  of  them  is  certain  in  my  own  mind.  The 
modest  degree  of  literary  reputation  that  makes  this  autobiog- 
raphy acceptable  from  a publisher’s  point  of  view  has  been 
won  slowly  and  arduously.  It  has  been  the  result  of  long 
and  steadfast  labor,  and  there  is  no  merely  personal  motive 
that  would  have  ever  made  me  persevere.  Consequently,  the 
existence  of  this  volume,  and  any  meaning  that  now  belongs  to 
the  name  on  its  titlepage,  are  due  to  my  getting  up  late  that 
morning  in  the  Hotel  du  Louvre. 

The  American  and  I being  alone  in  the  breakfast-room,  and 
shamefully  late,  were  drawn  together  by  the  sympathy  created 
by  an  identical  situation,  and  began  to  talk.  He  gave  some 
reasons  for  being  in  Paris,  and  I gave  mine,  which  was  to 
learn  French.  We  then  agreed  that  to  get  accustomed  to  the 
use  of  a foreign  language  the  first  thing  was  to  surround  our- 
selves with  it  entirely,  and  that  this  could  not  be  done  in  a 
cosmopolitan  place  like  the  Hotel  du  Louvre. 

“I  have  a French  friend,”  the  American  said,  “ who  could 
give  you  the  address  of  some  purely  French  hotel  where  you 
would  not  hear  a syllable  of  English.” 

After  breakfast  he  kindly  took  me  to  see  this  friend,  who 
was  a merchant  sitting  in  a pretty  and  tidy  counting-house  all 
in  green  and  new  oak.  The  merchant  spoke  English  (he  had 
lived  in  America)  and  said,  “ I know  exactly  what  you  wrant, 
— a quiet  little  French  hotel  in  the  Champs  Elysees  where 
you  can  have  clean  rooms  and  a well-kept  table  d'hote.”  He 
wrote  me  the  address  on  a card,  and  I went  to  look  at  the 
place. 

The  hotel,  which  exists  no  longer,  was  in  the  Avenue 
Montaigne.  It  suited  my  tastes  precisely,  being  extremely 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


175 


quiet,  as  it  looked  upon  a retired  garden,  and  the  rooms  were 
perfectly  clean.  There  was  only  one  story  above  the  ground- 
floor,  and  here  I took  a bedroom  and  sitting-room  looking 
upon  the  garden.  The  house  was  kept  by  a widow  who  had 
very  good  manners,  and  was,  in  her  own  person,  a pleasant 
example  of  the  cleanliness  that  characterized  the  house.  I 
learned  afterwards  (not  from  herself)  that  she  had  been  a lady 
reduced  to  poor  circumstances  by  the  loss  of  her  husband,  and 
that  her  relations  being  determined  that  she  should  do  some- 
thing for  her  living,  had  advanced  some  money  on  condition 
that  she  set  up  an  establishment.  Having  no  experience  in 
hotel-keeping,  she  soon  dissipated  the  little  capital  and  lived 
afterwards  on  a pittance  in  the  strictest  retirement. 

When  I took  my  rooms  the  small  hotel  seemed  modestly 
prosperous.  There  were  about  a dozen  people  at  the  table 
d'hote,  but  they  did  not  all  stay  in  the  house.  We  had  an 
officer  in  the  army  who  had  brought  his  young  provincial  wife 
to  Paris,  a beautiful  but  remarkably  unintelligent  person,  and 
there  were  other  people  who  might  be  taken  as  fair  specimens 
of  the  better  French  bourgeoisie.  The  most  interesting  per- 
son in  the  hotel  was  an  old  white-headed  gentleman  whose 
name  I may  give,  Victor  Ouvrard,  a nephew  of  the  famous 
Ouvrard  who  had  been  a great  contractor  for  military  clothes 
and  accoutrements  under  Napoleon  I.  Victor  Ouvrard  was 
living  on  a pension  given  by  a wealthy  relation,  and  doing 
what  he  could  to  push  a hopeless  claim  on  Napoleon  III. 
for  several  millions  of  francs  due  by  the  first  Emperor  to  his 
uncle.  I know  nothing  about  the  great  contractor  except  the 
curious  fact  that  he  remained  in  prison  for  a long  time  rather 
than  give  up  a large  sum  of  money  to  the  Government,  say- 
ing that  by  the  mere  sacrifice  of  his  liberty  he  was  earning  a 
handsome  income.  The  nephew  was  what  we  call  a gentle- 
man, a model  of  good  manners  and  delicate  sentiments.  He 
would  have  made  an  excellent  character  for  a novelist,  with 
his  constantly  expressed  regret  that  he  had  not  a speciality. 

“ Si  j’avais  une  speciality ! ” he  would  say,  as  he  tapped  his 
snuff-box  and  looked  up  wistfully  to  the  ceiling  — “ si  j’avais 
seulement  une  speciality ! ” He  felt  himself  humiliated  by 


176 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


the  necessity  for  accepting  his  little  pension,  and  still  enter- 
tained a chimerical  hope  that  if  the  Emperor  did  not  restore 
the  millions  that  were  due,  he  might  at  least  bestow  upon 
him  enough  for  independence  in  his  last  years.  There  had 
been  some  slight  indications  of  a favorable  turn  in  the  Emper- 
or’s mind,  but  they  came  to  nothing.  Meanwhile  M.  Victor 
Ouvrard  lived  on  with  strict  economy,  brushing  his  old  coats 
till  they  were  threadbare,  and  never  allowing  himself  a 
vehicle  in  the  streets  of  Paris.  He  was  an  excellent  walker, 
and  we  explored  a great  part  of  the  town  together  on  foot. 
He  kindly  took  patience  with  my  imperfect  French,  and 
often  gently  corrected  me.  The  long  conversations  I had 
with  M.  Ouvrard  on  all  sorts  of  subjects,  in  addition  to  my 
daily  lessons  from  masters,  got  me  forward  with  surprising 
rapidity.  I observed  a strict  rule  of  abstinence  from  English, 
never  calling  on  any  English  people,  with  the  single  excep- 
tion of  Mr.  Wyld,  the  painter,  nor  reading  any  English 
books.  When  M.  Ouvrard  was  not  with  me  in  the  streets  of 
Paris,  I got  up  conversations  with  anybody  who  would  talk 
to  me,  merely  to  get  practice,  and  in  my  own  room  I wrote 
French  every  day.  Besides  this,  for  physical  exercise,  I 
became  a pupil  in  a gymnasium,  and  worked  there  regularly. 
One  thing  seemed  strange  in  the  way  they  treated  us.  When 
we  were  as  hot  as  possible  with  exercise,  at  the  moment  of 
leaving  off  and  changing  our  dress,  men  came  to  the  dressing- 
rooms  to  sponge  us  with  ice-cold  water.  They  said  it  did 
nothing  but  good,  and  certainly  I never  felt  any  bad  effects 
from  the  practice. 

The  ice-cold  water  reminds  me  of  a ridiculous  incident  that 
occurred  in  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries.  M.  Ouvrard  and  I 
were  walking  together  in  the  direction  of  the  palace,  when 
we  saw  a Frenchman  going  towards  it  with  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  edifice.  He  was  so  entirely  absorbed  by  his  architectural 
studies  that  he  did  not  notice  the  basin  just  in  front  of  him. 
The  stone  lip  of  the  basin  projects  a little  on  the  land  side, 
so  that  if  you  catch  your  foot  in  it  no  recovery  is  possible. 
This  he  did,  and  was  thrown  violently  full  length  upon  the 
thin  ice,  which  offered  little  resistance  to  his  weight.  The 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY . 


177 


basin  is  not  more  than  a yard  deep,  so  he  got  out  and  made 
his  way  along  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  his  clothes  streaming  on 
the  causeway.  Some  spectators  laughed,  and  others  smiled, 
but  M.  Ouvrard  remained  perfectly  grave,  saying  that  he 
could  not  understand  how  people  could  be  so  unfeeling  as  to 
laugh  at  a misfortune,  for  the  man  would  probably  take  cold. 
Perhaps  the  reader  thinks  he  had  no  sense  of  humor.  Yes, 
he  had;  he  was  very  facetious  and  a hearty  laugher,  but  his 
delicacy  of  feeling  was  so  refined  that  he  could  not  laugh  at 
an  accident  that  seemed  to  call  rather  for  his  sympathy. 

A French  gentleman  who  was  staying  at  the  hotel  had  a 
friend  who  came  occasionally  to  see  him,  and  this  friend  was 
an  amiable  and  interesting  talker.  He  had  at  the  same  time 
much  natural  politeness,  and  seeing  that  I wanted  to  practise 
conversation  he  indulged  me  by  patiently  listening  to  my  bad 
French,  and  giving  me  his  own  remarkably  pure  and  masterly 
French  in  return.  His  name,  I learned,  was  Gindriez,  and  he 
was  living  in  Paris  by  the  tolerance  of  the  Emperor.  He 
had  been  Prefect  of  the  Doubs  under  the  second  Republic, 
and  had  resigned  his  prefecture  as  soon  as  the  orders  emanat- 
ing from  the  executive  Government  betrayed  the  intention  of 
establishing  the  Empire.  As  a member  of  the  National 
Assembly  he  had  voted  against  the  Bonapartists,  and  was 
one  of  the  few  representatives  who  were  concerting  measures 
against  Napoleon  when  he  forestalled  them  by  striking  first. 
After  the  coup  d'etat  M.  Gindriez  fled  to  Belgium,  but 
returned  to  Paris  for  family  reasons,  and  was  permitted  to 
remain  on  condition  that  he  did  not  actively  set  himself  in 
opposition  to  the  Empire.  M.  Gindriez  looked  upon  his  own 
political  career  as  ended,  though  he  could  have  made  it  pros- 
perous enough,  and  even  brilliant,  by  serving  the  power  of 
the  day.  A more  flexible  instrument  had  been  put  into  his 
prefecture,  a new  legislative  body  had  been  elected  to  give  a 
false  appearance  of  parliamentary  government,  and  an  auto- 
cratic system  had  been  established  which  M.  Gindriez  believed 
destined  to  a prolonged  duration,  though  he  felt  sure  that 
it  could  not  last  forever.  Subsequent  events  have  proved 
the  correctness  of  his  judgment.  The  Empire  outlasted 

12 


178 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


the  lifetime  of  M.  Gindriez,  but  it  did  not  establish  itself 
permanently. 

It  was  a peculiarity  of  mine  in  early  life  (which  I never 
thought  about  at  the  time,  but  which  has  become  evident  in 
the  course  of  this  autobiography)  to  prefer  the  society  of 
elderly  men.  In  London  I had  liked  to  be  with  Mackay, 
Kobinson  the  engraver,  and  Leslie,  all  gray -headed  men,  and 
in  Paris  I soon  acquired  a strong  liking  for  M.  Ouvrard,  M. 
Gindriez,  and  Mr.  Wyld.  They  were  kind  and  open,  and 
had  experience,  therefore  they  were  interesting;  my  uncles 
in  Lancashire  had,  no  doubt,  been  kind  in  their  own  way, 
that  is,  in  welcoming  me  to  their  houses,  but  they  were  both 
excessively  reserved.  Being  at  that  time  deeply  interested  in 
France,  I was  delighted  to  find  a man  like  M.  Gindriez  who 
could  give  me  endless  information.  His  chief  interest  in  life 
lay  in  French  politics ; art  and  literature  being  for  him  sub- 
jects of  secondary  concern,  but  by  no  means  of  indifference, 
and  the  plain  truth  is  that  he  had  a better  and  clearer  concep- 
tion of  art  than  I myself  had  in  those  days,  or  for  long  after- 
wards. There  was  also  for  me  a personal  magnetism  in  M. 
Gindriez,  which  it  was  not  easy  to  account  for  then,  but 
which  is  now  quite  intelligible  to  me.  He  had  in  the  utmost 
strength  and  purity  the  genuine  heroic  nature.  I came  to 
understand  this  in  after  years,  and  believe  that  it  impressed 
me  from  the  first.  It  is  unnecessary  to  say  more  about  this 
remarkable  character  in  this  place,  because  the  reader  will 
hear  much  of  him  afterwards.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  I 
was  attracted  by  his  powers  of  conversation  and  his  evident 
tenderness  of  heart. 

When  we  had  become  better  acquainted,  M.  Gindriez 
invited  me  to  spend  an  evening  at  his  house  after  dinner, 
and  I went.  He  was  living  at  that  time  on  a boulevard  out- 
side the  first  wall,  which  has  since  been  demolished.  His 
appartement  was  simply  furnished,  and  not  strikingly  differ- 
ent in  any  way  from  the  usual  dwellings  of  the  Parisian 
middle  class.  I had  now  been  absent  for  some  weeks  from 
anything  like  a home,  and  after  living  in  hotels  it  was  pleas- 
ant to  find  myself  at  a domestic  fireside.  M.  Gindriez  had 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


179 


several  children.  The  eldest  was  a girl  of  sixteen,  extremely 
modest  and  retiring,  as  a well-bred  jeune  fille  generally  is 
in  France,  and  there  was  another  daughter,  very  pretty  and 
engaging,  but  scarcely  more  than  a child;  there  were  also  two 
boys,  the  eldest  a very  taciturn,  studious  lad,  who  was  at 
that  time  at  the  well-known  college  of  Sainte  Barbe.  Their 
mother  had  been  a woman  of  remarkable  beauty,  and  still 
retained  enough  of  it  to  attract  the  eye  of  a painter.  She 
had  also  at  times  a certain  unconscious  grace  and  dignity  of 
pose  that  the  great  old  Italian  masters  valued  more  than  it  is 
valued  now.  M.  Gindriez  himself  had  a refined  face,  but  my 
interest  in  him  was  due  almost  entirely  to  the  charm  and  ease 
of  his  conversation. 

In  writing  an  autobiography  one  ought  to  give  impressions 
as  they  were  received  at  the  time,  and  not  as  they  may  have 
been  modified  afterwards.  I am  still  quite  able  to  recall 
the  impression  made  upon  me  by  the  eldest  daughter  in  the 
beginning  of  1856.  I did  not  think  her  so  pretty  as  her 
sister,  though  she  had  a healthy  complexion,  with  bright  eyes 
and  remarkably  beautiful  teeth,  whilst  her  slight  figure  was 
graceful  and  well  formed;  but  I well  remember  being  pleased 
and  interested  by  the  little  glimpses  I could  get  of  her  mind 
and  character.  It  was  a new  sort  of  character  to  me,  and 
even  in  the  tones  of  her  voice  there  was  something  that  indi- 
cated a rare  union  of  strength  and  tenderness.  The  tender- 
ness, of  course,  was  not  for  me,  a foreign  temporary  guest  in 
those  days,  but  I found  it  out  by  the  girl’s  way  of  speaking  to 
her  father.  I perceived,  too,  under  an  exterior  of  cheerful- 
ness, rising  at  times  to  gayety,  a nature  that  was  really  serious, 
as  if  saddened  by  a too  early  experience  of  trouble. 

The  truth  was,  that  in  consequence  of  her  father’s  checkered 
career,  this  girl  of  sixteen  had  passed  through  a much  greater 
variety  of  experience  than  most  women  have  known  at  thirty. 
Her  mother,  too,  had  for  some  time  suffered  almost  continu- 
ously from  ill-health,  so  that  the  eldest  daughter  had  been 
really  the  active  mistress  of  the  house.  Her  courage  and 
resolution  had  been  put  to  the  test  in  various  ways  that  I 
knew  nothing  about  then,  but  the  effects  of  an  uncommon 


180 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


experience  were  that  deepening  of  the  young  nature  which 
made  it  especially  interesting  to  me.  Afterwards  I dis- 
covered that  Eugenie  Gindriez  had  read  more  and  thought 
more  than  other  girls  of  her  age.  This  might  have  been 
almost  an  evil  in  a quiet  life,  but  hers  had  not  been  a quiet 
life. 

We  soon  became  friends  in  spite  of  the  French  conventional 
idea  that  a girl  should  not  open  her  lips,  but  it  did  not  occur 
to  me  that  we  were  likely  ever  to  be  anything  more  than 
friends.  Had  tbe  idea  occurred,  the  obstacle  of  a difference 
in  nationality  would  have  seemed  to  me  absolutely  insuper- 
able. I thought  of  marriage  at  that  time  as  a possibility, 
but  not  of  an  international  marriage.  In  fact,  the  difficulties 
attending  upon  an  international  marriage  are  so  considerable, 
and  the  subsequent  practical  inconvenience  so  troublesome, 
that  only  an  ardently  passionate  and  imprudent  nature  could 
overlook  them. 

I , for  my  part,  left  Paris  without  being  aware  that  Made- 
moiselle Gindriez  had  anything  to  do  with  my  future  destiny ; 
but  she,  with  a woman’s  perspicacity,  knew  better.  She 
thought  it  at  least  probable,  if  not  certain,  that  I should 
return  after  long  years;  she  waited  patiently,  and  when  at 
last  I did  return  there  was  no  need  to  tell  on  what  errand. 

An  incident  occurred  that  might  have  been  a partial  revela- 
tion to  me  and  a clear  one  to  her.  Before  my  departure  from 
Paris,  M.  Ouvrard  said  to  me  that  he  had  been  told  I was 
engaged  to  “ une  Frangaise.  ” 

“ What  is  her  name  % ” — he  mentioned  another  young  lady. 
Now  to  this  day  I remember  that  when  he  spoke  of  a French 
marriage  as  a possibility  for  me  I at  once  saw,  mentally,  a 
portrait  of  Eugenie  Gindriez.  However,  as  a French  mar- 
riage was  not  a possibility,  I thought  no  more  of  the  matter. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


181 


CHAPTER  XXVIlf 
1856. 

Specialities  in  painting.  — Wyld’s  practice.  — Projected  voyage  on  the 
Loire.  — Birth  of  the  Prince  Imperial.  — Scepticism  about  his  inherit- 
ance of  the  crown.  — The  Imperial  family.  — I return  home.  — Value 
of  the  French  language  to  me. 

Being  entirely  absorbed  in  the  study  of  Erench  during  my 
first  visit  to  Paris,  I did  little  in  the  practice  of  art.  My 
Lancashire  neighbor,  who  was  studying  in  Paris,  worked  in 
Colin’s  atelier,  and  I have  since  regretted  that  I did  not  at 
that  time  get  myself  entered  there,  the  more  so  that  it  was  a 
decent  and  quiet  place  kept  under  the  eye  of  the  master  him- 
self, who  had  long  been  accustomed  to  teaching.  My  friend 
had  certainly  made  good  progress  there.  I was  unfortunately 
influenced  by  two  erroneous  ideas,  one  of  them  being  that  the 
studies  of  a figure-painter  could  be  of  no  use  in  landscape,1 
and  the  other  that  it  was  wiser  to  be  a specialist,  and  devote 
myself  to  landscape  exclusively.  It  is  surprising  that  the 
notion  of  a limited  speciality  in  painting  should  have  taken 
possession  of  me  then,  as  in  other  matters  I have  never  been  a 
narrow  specialist,  or  had  any  tendency  to  become  one. 

The  choice  of  a narrow  speciality  may  be  good  in  the  indus- 
trial arts,  but  it  is  not  good  in  painting,  for  the  reason  that  a 
painter  may  at  any  time  desire  to  include  something  in  his 
picture  which  a specialist  could  not  deal  with.  To  feel  as 
if  the  world  belonged  to  him  a painter  ought  to  be  able  to 
paint  everything  he  sees.  There  is  another  sense  in  which 
speciality  may  be  good : it  may  be  good  to  keep  to  one  of  the 
graphic  arts  in  order  to  effect  that  intimate  union  between  the 
man  and  his  instrument  which  is  hardly  possible  on  any  other 
terms. 


1 This  idea  had  been  strongly  confirmed  by  Mr.  Pettitt. 


182 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


Wyld  would  have  taught  me  landscape-painting  if  I had 
asked  him,  and  I did  at  a later  period  study  water-color  with 
him;  but  his  practice  in  oil  did  not  suit  me,  for  this  reason: 
it  was  entirely  tentative,  he  was  constantly  demolishing  his 
work,  so  that  it  was  hard  to  see  how  a pupil  could  possibly 
follow  him.  The  advantage  in  working  under  his  eye  would 
have  been  in  receiving  a great  variety  of  sound  artistic  ideas; 
for  few  painters  know  more  about  art  as  distinguished  from 
nature.  However,  by  mere  conversation,  Wyld  has  communi- 
cated to  me  a great  deal  of  this  knowledge ; and  with  regard 
to  the  practical  advantages  of  painting  like  him  they  would 
probably  not  have  ensured  me  any  better  commercial  success, 
as  his  style  of  painting  has  now  for  a long  time  been  com- 
pletely out  of  fashion. 

My  scheme  in  1856  was  to  make  a great  slow  boat  voyage 
on  the  Loire,  with  the  purpose  of  collecting  a quantity  of 
sketches  and  studies  in  illustration  of  that  river;  and  my 
ardor  in  learning  to  speak  French  had  for  an  immediate 
motive  the  desire  to  make  that  voyage  without  an  interpreter. 
I have  often  regretted  that  this  scheme  was  never  carried  out. 
I have  since  done  something  of  the  same  kind  for  the  Saone, 
but  my  situation  is  now  entirely  different.  I am  now  obliged 
to  make  all  my  undertakings^?/,  which  limits  them  terribly, 
and  almost  entirely  prevents  me  from  doing  anything  on  a 
great  scale.  For  example,  these  pages  are  written  within  a 
few  miles  of  Loire  side;  the  river  that  flows  near  my  home 
is  a tributary  of  the  Loire;  I have  all  the  material  outfit 
necessary  for  a great  boating  expedition,  and  still  keep  the 
strength  and  the  will ; but  no  publisher  could  prudently 
undertake  the  illustration  of  a river  so  long  as  the  Loire  and 
so  rich  in  material,  on  the  scale  that  I contemplated  in  1856. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  trouble  the  reader  with  my  crude  im- 
pressions of  European  painting  in  the  Universal  Exhibition 
of  that  year.  I no  more  understood  French  art  at  that  time 
than  a Frenchman  newly  transplanted  to  London  can  under- 
stand English  art.  The  two  schools  require,  in  fact,  different 
mental  adjustments.  Our  National  Gallery  had  sufficiently 
prepared  me  for  the  Louvre,  which  I visited  very  frequently ; 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


183 


and  there  I laid  the  foundations  of  a sort  of  knowledge  which 
became  of  great  use  many  years  afterwards,  though  for  a long 
time  there  was  nothing  to  show  for  it. 

No  historical  event  of  importance  occurred  during  my  stay 
in  Paris,  except  the  birth  of  the  Prince  Imperial.  I was 
awakened  by  the  cannon  at  the  Invalides,  and  having  been 
told  that  if  there  were  more  than  twenty-one  guns  the  child 
would  be  a boy,  I counted  till  the  twenty-second,  and  then 
fell  asleep  again.  There  existed,  even  then,  the  most  com- 
plete scepticism  as  to  the  transmission  of  the  crown.  Neither 
M.  Gindriez,  nor  any  other  intelligent  Frenchman  that  I met, 
believed  that  the  newly  born  infant  had  the  faintest  chance 
of  ever  occupying  the  throne  of  France.  Before  the  child’s 
birth  I had  seen  his  father  and  mother  and  all  his  relations 
at  the  closing  ceremony  of  the  Universal  Exhibition,  and 
thought  them,  with  the  exception  of  the  Empress,  a common- 
looking set  of  people.  They  walked  round  the  oblong  arena 
in  the  Palais  de  l’Industrie  exactly  as  circus  people  do  round 
the  track  at  the  Hippodrome.  The  most  interesting  figure 
was  old  Jerome  — interesting,  not  for  himself,  as  he  was  a 
nonentity,  but  as  the  brother  of  the  most  famous  conqueror 
since  Caesar. 

Being  called  back  to  England  on  a matter  of  business,  I cut 
short  my  stay  in  Paris,  and  arrived  at  Hollins  without  having 
advanced  much  as  an  artist,  but  with  an  important  linguistic 
acquirement.  The  value  of  French  to  me  from  a professional 
point  of  view  is  quite  incalculable.  The  best  French  criti- 
cism on  the  fine  arts  is  the  most  discriminating  and  the  most 
accurate  in  the  world,  at  least  when  it  is  not  turned  aside 
from  truth  by  the  national  jealousy  of  England  and  the  con- 
sequent antipathy  to  English  art.  A.t  the  same  time,  there 
are  qualities  of  delicacy  and  precision  in  French  prose  which 
it  was  good  for  me  to  appreciate,  even  imperfectly. 


184 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

1856. 

My  first  encampment  in  Lancashire.  — Value  of  encamping  as  a part  of 
educational  discipline.  — Happy  days  in  camp.  — The  natural  and  the 
artificial  in  landscape.  — Sir  James  Kay  Shuttle  worth’s  Exhibition 
project.  — I decline  to  take  an  active  part  in  it.  — His  energetic  and 
laborious  disposition.  — Charlotte  Bronte.  — General  Scarlett. 

The  Loire  expedition  having  been  abandoned  for  the  year 
1856,  and  the  Nile  voyage  put  off  indefinitely,  I remained 
working  in  the  north  of  England,  discouraged,  as  to  litera- 
ture, by  the  failure  of  the  book  of  verse,  and  without  much 
encouragement  for  painting  either;  so  the  summer  of  1856  was 
not  very  fruitful  in  work  of  any  kind. 

Towards  autumn,  however,  I took  courage  again,  and  deter- 
mined to  paint  from  nature  on  the  moors.  This  led  to  the 
first  attempt  at  encamping. 

It  is  wonderful  what  an  influence  the  things  we  do  in  early 
life  may  have  on  our  future  occupations.  In  1886,  exactly 
thirty  years  later,  I made  the  Saone  expedition , for  which  two 
absolutely  essential  qualifications  were  an  intimate  knowledge 
of  the  French  language  and  a practical  acquaintance  with 
encamping.  The  Roman  who  said  that  fifteen  years  made  a 
long  space  in  human  life  would  have  appreciated  the  impor- 
tance of  thirty,  yet  across  all  that  space  of  time  what  I did  in 
1856  told  just  as  effectually  as  if  it  had  been  done  the  year 
before.  Moral  (for  any  young  man  who  may  read  this  book)  : 
it  is  impossible  to  say  how  important  the  deeds  of  twenty- 
one  may  turn  out  to  have  been  when  we  look  back  upon  them 
in  complete  maturity.  All  we  know  about  them  is  that  they 
are  likely  to  be  recognized  in  the  future  as  far  more  important 
than  they  seemed  when  they  were  in  the  present. 

Encamping  is  now  quite  familiar  to  young  Englishmen  in 
connection  with  boating  excursions,  and  it  has  even  been 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


185 


adopted  in  American  pine  forests  for  the  sake  of  health;  but 
in  1856  only  military  men  and  a few  travellers  knew  any- 
thing about  encampments.  I was  led  into  this  art,  or  amuse- 
ment (for  it  is  both) , by  a very  natural  transition.  Here  are 
the  three  stages  of  it. 

1.  You  want  to  paint  from  nature  in  uncertain  weather, 
and  you  build  a hut  for  shelter. 

2.  The  hut  is  at  some  distance  from  a house,  and  you  do 
not  like  to  leave  it,  so  you  sleep  in  it. 

3.  The  accommodation  is  found  to  be  narrow,  and  it  is 
unpleasant  to  have  one  little  room  for  everything,  so  you  add 
a tent  or  two  outside  and  keep  a man.  Hence  a complete 
little  encampment. 

Everybody  considered  me  extremely  eccentric  in  1856 
because  I was  led  into  encamping;  but  it  was  an  excellent 
thing  for  me  in  various  ways.  A young  man  given  up  to 
such  pursuits  as  literature  and  art  needs  a closer  contact  with 
common  realities  than  aesthetic  studies  can  give.  The  physi- 
cal work  attendant  upon  encamping,  and  the  constant  atten- 
tion that  must  be  given  to  such  pressing  necessities  as  shelter 
and  food,  give  exactly  that  contact  with  reality  that  educates 
us  in  readiness  of  resource,  and  they  have  the  incalculable 
advantage  of  making  one  learn  the  difference  between  the  nec- 
essary and  the  superfluous.  I look  back  upon  early  camping 
experiments  with  satisfaction  as  an  experience  of  the  greatest 
educational  value.  Even  now,  in  my  sixth  decade,  I can 
sleep  under  canvas  and  arrange  all  the  details  of  a camp  with 
indescribable  enjoyment,  and  (what  is  perhaps  better  still)  I 
can  put  up  cheerfully  with  the  very  humblest  accommodation 
in  country  inns,  provided  only  that  they  are  tolerably  clean. 

The  arrangements  of  my  hut  on  the  moor  near  Burnley 
have  been  described  in  detail  in  “The  Painter’s  Camp,”  so 
it  is  unnecessary  to  give  a minute  account  of  them  in  this 
place.  I was  entirely  alone,  except  the  company  of  a dog, 
and  had  no  defence  but  a revolver.  That  month  of  solitude 
on  the  wild  hills  was  a singularly  happy  time,  so  happy  that 
it  is  not  easy,  without  some  reflection,  to  account  for  such 
a degree  of  felicity.  I was  young,  and  the  brisk  mountain 


186 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


air  exhilarated  me.  I walked  out  every  day  on  the  heather, 
which  I loved  as  if  my  father  and  mother  had  been  a brace  of 
grouse.  Then  there  was  the  steady  occupation  of  painting 
a big  foreground  study  from  nature,  and  the  necessary  camp 
work  that  would  have  kept  morbid  ideas  at  a distance  if  any 
such  had  been  likely  to  trouble  me.  As  for  the  solitude,  and 
the  silence  broken  only  by  wind  and  rain,  their  effect  was  not 
depressing  in  the  least.  Towns  are  depressing  to  me  — even 
Paris  has  that  effect  — but  how  is  it  possible  to  feel  other- 
wise than  cheerful  when  you  have  leagues  of  fragrant  heather 
all  around  you,  and  blue  Yorkshire  hills  on  the  high  and  far 
horizon  1 

A noteworthy  effect  of  this  month  on  the  moors  was  that 
on  returning  to  Hollins,  which  was  situated  amongst  trim 
green  pastures  and  plantations,  everything  seemed  so  aston- 
ishingly artificial.  It  came  with  the  force  of  a discovery. 
From  that  day  to  this  the  natural  and  the  artificial  in  land- 
scape have  been,  for  me,  as  clearly  distinguished  as  a wild 
boar  from  a domestic  pig.  My  strong  preference  was,  and 
still  is,  for  wild  nature.  The  unfortunate  effects  of  this  pref- 
erence, as  regards  success  in  landscape-painting,  will  claim 
our  attention  later. 

The  grand  scheme  for  an  Exhibition  of  Art  Treasures  at 
Manchester,  in  1857,  suggested  to  Sir  James  Kay  Shuttle- 
worth  the  idea  of  having  an  Exhibition  at  Burnley  in  the 
same  year  to  illustrate  the  history  of  Lancashire.  He  thought 
that  a certain  proportion  of  the  visitors  to  the  Manchester  Art 
Treasures  would  probably  be  induced  to  visit  our  little-known 
but  prosperous  and  rising  town.  His  scheme  was  of  a very 
comprehensive  character,  and  included  a pictorial  illustration 
of  Lancashire.  There  would  have  been  pictures  of  Lanca- 
shire scenery  as  well  as  portraits  of  men  who  have  distin- 
guished themselves  in  the  history  of  the  county,  and  whose 
fame  has,  in  many  instances,  gone  far  beyond  its  borders. 
All  the  mechanical  inventions  that  have  enriched  Lancashire 
would  also  have  been  represented. 

Having  thought  this  over  in  his  own  mind,  Sir  James 
wanted  an  active  lieutenant  to  aid  him  in  carrying  his  idea 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


187 


into  execution,  and  as  he  knew  me  he  asked  me  to  he  the 
practical  manager  of  the  Exhibition.  I was  to  travel  all  over 
the  county,  see  all  the  people  of  importance,  and  borrow, 
whenever  possible,  such  of  their  pictures  and  other  relics  as 
might  be  considered  illustrative  of  Lancashire  history.  Sir 
James  had  many  influential  friends,  I myself  had  a few,  and 
it  seemed  to  him  that  by  devoting  my  time  to  the  scheme 
heartily  I might  make  it  a success.  My  reward  was  to  be 
simply  a very  interesting  experience,  as  I should  see  almost 
all  the  interesting  things  and  people  in  my  native  county. 

Sir  James  did  his  best  to  entice  me,  and  as  he  was  a very 
able  man  with  much  knowledge  of  the  world,  he  might  possi- 
bly have  succeeded  had  I not  been  more  than  usually  wary. 
Luckily,  I felt  the  whole  weight  of  my  inexperience,  and 
said  to  myself : " Whatever  we  do  it  is  certain  that  mistakes 
will  be  committed,  and  very  probable  that  some  things  will 
be  damaged.  All  mistakes  will  be  laid  to  my  door.  Then 
the  Exhibition  itself  may  be  a failure,  and  it  is  disagreeable 
to  be  conspicuously  connected  with  a failure.”  I next  con- 
sulted one  or  two  experienced  friends,  who  said,  “ Sir  James 
will  have  the  credit  of  any  success  there  may  be,  and  you,  as 
a young  useful  person,  comparatively  unknown,  will  get  very 
little,  whilst  at  the  same  time  you  will  be  burdened  with 
heavy  anxieties  and  responsibilities.”  I therefore  firmly 
declined,  and  as  Sir  Janies  could  not  find  any  other  suitable 
assistant,  his  project  was  never  realized. 

It  seems  odd  that  the  existence  of  this  Lancashire  Exhibi- 
tion should  have  depended  on  the  “ yes  ” or  “ no  ” of  a lad  of 
twenty-three;  yet  so  it  did,  for  if  I had  consented  the  scheme 
would  certainly  have  been  carried  into  execution,  whether 
successfully  or  not  it  is  impossible  to  say.  The  enterprise 
would  have  greatly  interested  and  occupied  me,  for  I have  a 
natural  turn  for  organizing  things,  being  fond  of  order  and 
details,  and  I should  have  learned  a great  deal  and  seen  many 
people  and  many  houses;  still,  the  negative  decision  was  the 
wiser. 

Sir  James  Kay  Shuttleworth  was  certainly  one  of  the 
remarkable  people  I have  known.  At  that  time  he  was 


188 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


unpopular  in  Burnley  on  account  of  his  separation  from  his 
wife,  who  had  been  the  richest  heiress  in  the  neighborhood, 
the  owner  of  a fine  estate  and  a grand  old  hall  at  Gawthorpe. 
People  thought  she  had  been  ill-used.  Of  this  I really  know 
(of  my  own  knowledge)  absolutely  nothing,  and  shall  print 
no  hearsays. 

Sir  James  himself  was  an  ambitious  and  very  hard-working 
man,  who  passed  through  life  with  no  desire  for  repose. 
Public  education,  in  the  days  before  Board  Schools,  was  his 
especial  subject,  and  he  owed  his  baronetcy  to  his  efforts  in 
that  cause.  The  Tory  aristocracy  of  the  neighborhood  dis- 
liked him  for  his  liberal  principles  in  politics,  and  for  his 
brilliant  marriage,  which  came  about  because  the  heiress  of 
Gawthorpe  took  an  interest  in  his  own  subjects.  Perhaps, 
too,  they  were  not  quite  pleased  with  his  too  active  and 
restless  intellect.  He  made  one  or  two  attempts  to  win  a 
position  as  a novelist,  but  in  connection  with  literature 
future  generations  will  know  him  chiefly  as  the  kind  host  of 
Charlotte  Bronte,  who  visited  him  at  Gawthorpe. 

I regret  now  that  I never  met  Charlotte  Bronte,  as  she  was 
quite  a near  neighbor  of  ours;  in  fact,  I could  have  ridden  or 
walked  over  to  Haworth  at  any  time.  That  village  is  just  on 
the  northeast  border  of  the  great  Boulsworth  moors,  where 
my  hut  was  pitched.  At  the  time  of  my  encampment  there 
Charlotte  Bronte  had  been  dead  about  eighteen  months.  She 
was  hardly  a contemporary  of  mine,  as  she  was  born  seven- 
teen years  before  me,  and  died  so  prematurely ; still , when  I 
think  that  “ Jane  Eyre  ” was  written  within  a very  few  miles 
of  Hollins,1  and  that  for  several  years,  during  which  I rode  or 
walked  every  day,  Charlotte  Bronte  was  living  just  on  the 
other  side  of  the  moors  visible  from  my  home,  I am  vexed 
with  myself  for  not  having  had  assurance  enough  to  go  to  see 
her.  Since  those  days  a hundred  ephemeral  reputations  have 
risen  only  to  be  quenched  forever  in  the  great  ocean  of  the 
world’s  oblivion,  but  the  fame  of  “ Jane  Eyre  ” is  as  brilliant 

1 I have  not  access  to  an  ordnance  map,  but  believe  that  the  distance 
was  hardly  more  than  eight  miles  across  the  moors.  Haworth  is  only 
twelve  miles  from  Burnley  by  road. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


189 


as  it  was  when  the  book  astonished  all  reading  England  forty 
years  ago.1 

Amongst  the  distinguished  people  belonging  to  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Burnley  was  General  Scarlett,  who  led  the  charge  of 
the  Heavy  Cavalry  at  Balaclava,  — a brilliant  feat  of  arms  much 
more  satisfactory  to  military  men  than  the  fruitless  sacrifice 
of  the  Light  Brigade,  which,  however,  is  incomparably  better 
known.  I recollect  General  Scarlett  chiefly  because  he  set 
me  thinking  about  a very  important  question  in  political 
economy.  I happened  to  be  sitting  next  him  at  dinner  when 
the  talk  turned  upon  wine,  and  the  General  said,  “ The  Radi- 
cals find  fault  with  the  economy  of  the  Queen’s  household 
because  they  say  that  the  wine  drunk  there  costs  sixteen  thou- 
sand a year.  I don’t  know  what  it  costs,  but  that  is  of  no 
consequence.”  I then  timidly  inquired  if  he  did  not  think  it 
was  a waste  of  money,  on  which,  in  a kind  way,  he  explained 
to  me  that  “ if  the  money  were  paid  and  put  into  circulation 
it  did  not  signify  what  it  had  been  spent  upon.”  I knew 
there  was  something  fallacious  in  this,  but  my  own  ideas  were 
not  clear  upon  the  subject,  and  it  did  not  become  me  to  set  up 
an  argument  with  a distinguished  old  officer  like  the  General. 
Of  course  the  right  answer  is  that  there  is  always  a responsi- 
bility for  spending  money  so  as  to  be  of  use  not  only  to  the 
tradesman  who  pockets  it,  but  to  the  consumers  also . If  the 
wine  gave  health  and  wisdom  it  would  hardly  be  possible  to 
spend  too  much  upon  it. 


1 I am  writing  in  1888. 


190 


A UTOBIO  GRAPH  Y. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


I visit  the  homes  of  my  forefathers  at  Hamerton,  Wigglesworth,  and 
Hellifield  Peel.  — Attainder  and  execution  of  Sir  Stephen  Hamerton.  — 
Return  of  Hellifield  Peel  to  the  family.  — Sir  Richard.  — The  Ham- 
ertons  distinguished  only  for  marrying  heiresses.  — Another  visit  to  the 
Peel,  when  I see  my  father’s  cousin.  — Nearness  of  Hellifield  Peel  and 
Hollins. 

In  one  of  these  years  (the  exact  date  is  of  no  consequence)  I 
visited  the  old  houses  in  Yorkshire  which  had  belonged  to  our 
family  in  former  times.  The  place  we  take  our  name  from, 
Hamerton,  belonged  to  Richard  de  Hamerton  in  1170.  I found 
the  old  hall  still  in  existence,  or  a part  of  it,  and  though  the 
present  building  evidently  does  not  date  from  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury, it  dates  from  the  occupation  of  my  forefathers.  At  the 
time  of  my  visit  there  was  some  very  massive  oak  wainscot 
still  remaining. 

The  situation  is,  to  my  taste,  one  of  the  pleasantest  in 
England.  The  house  is  on  a hill,  from  which  it  looks  down 
on  the  valley  of  Slaidburn.  Steep  green  pastures  slope  to  the 
flat  meadows  in  the  lower  ground,  which  are  watered  by  a 
stream.  There  are  many  places  of  that  character  in  Yorkshire, 
and  they  have  never  lost  their  old  charm  for  me.  I cannot  do 
without  a hill,  and  a stream,  and  a green  field.1 

My  forefathers  lived  at  Hamerton,  more  or  less,  from  a time 
of  which  there  is  no  record  down  to  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII., 
but  their  principal  seat  in  the  time  of  their  greatest  prosperity 
was  Wigglesworth  Hall.  I arrived  there  in  time  to  see  masons 
demolishing  the  building.  One  or  two  Gothic  arched  door- 

1 Since  this  was  written  I have  been  compelled  to  do  without  them  by 
the  necessity  for  living  close  to  an  art-centre,  a necessity  against  which  I 
rebelled  as  long  as  I could.  Even  to-day,  however,  I would  joyously  give 
all  Paris  for  such  a place  as  Hollins  or  Hamerton  (as  I knew  them),  with 
their  streams  and  pastures,  and  near  or  distant  hills. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


191 


ways  still  remained,  but  were  probably  destroyed  the  next  week. 
Just  enough  of  the  house  was  preserved  to  shelter  the  occupant 
of  the  farm. 

For  me  this  unnecessary  destruction  is  always  distressing, 
even  in  foreign  countries.  It  is  excusable  in  towns,  where 
land  is  dear ; but  in  the  country  the  site  of  an  old  hall  is  of 
such  trifling  value  that  it  might  surely  be  permitted  to  fall 
peaceably  to  ruin. 

The  family  of  De  Arches,  to  which  Wigglesworth  originally 
belonged,  bore  for  arms  gules , three  arches  argent.  The  co- 
incidence struck  me  forcibly  when  I saw  the  Gothic  arches  still 
standing  amongst  the  ruins. 

The  place  came  into  the  possession  of  our  family  by  the 
marriage  of  Adam  de  Hamerton,  in  the  fourteenth  century, 
with  Katharine,  heiress  of  Elias  de  Knoll  of  Knolsmere.  His 
father,  Reginald  de  Knoll,  had  married  Beatrix  de  Arches, 
heiress  of  the  manor  of  Wigglesworth.  These  estates,  with 
others  too  numerous  to  mention,  remained  in  our  family  till 
they  were  lost  by  the  attainder  of  Sir  Stephen  Hamerton,  who 
joined  the  insurrection  known  as  “ The  Pilgrimage  of  Grace  ” 
in  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII. 

During  these  excursions  to  old  houses  I visited  Hellifield 
Peel,  still  belonging  to  the  chief  of  our  little  clan.  The  Peel 
is  an  old  border  tower,  embattled,  and  with  walls  of  great 
thickness.  It  is  large  enough  to  make  a tolerably  spacious,  but 
not  very  convenient,  modern  house,  and  my  great  uncle  spoiled 
its  external  appearance  by  inserting  London  sash  windows  in 
the  gray  old  fortress  wall.  On  this  occasion  I did  not  see  the 
interior,  not  desiring  to  claim  a relationship  that  had  fallen  into 
abeyance  for  half-a-century ; yet  I felt  the  most  intense  curios- 
ity about  it,  and  for  more  than  twenty  years  afterwards  I 
dreamed  from  time  to  time  I got  inside  the  Peel,  and  saw  quite 
a museum  of  knightly  armor1  and  other  memorials  which,  I 
regret  to  say,  have  not  been  preserved  in  reality. 

1 The  first  Sir  Stephen  Hamerton  was  made  a knight  banneret  in  Scot- 
land by  Richard,  Duke  of  Gloucester,  in  the  reign  of  Edward  IV.  He 
married  Isabel,  daughter  of  Sir  William  Plumpton,  of  Plnmpton,  and  a 
letter  of  his  is  still  extant  in  the  Plumpton  correspondence. 


192 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


Hellifield  Peel  was  built  by  Laurence  Hamerton  in  1440. 
When  the  second  Sir  Stephen  was  executed  for  high  treason 
and  his  possessions  confiscated,  the  manor  of  Hellifield  was  pre- 
served by  a settlement  for  his  mother  during  her  life.  After 
that  it  was  granted  by  the  king  to  one  George  Browne,  of  whom 
we  know  nothing  positively  except  that  he  lived  at  Calais,  and 
after  changing  hands  several  times  it  came  back  into  the 
Hamerton  family  by  a fine  levied  in  the  time  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth. The  owners  then  passed  the  manor  to  John  Hamerton, 
a nephew  of  Sir  Stephen.  The  attainted  knight  left  an  only 
son,  Henry,  who  is  said  to  have  been  interred  in  York  Minster 
on  the  day  when  his  father  was  beheaded  in  London.  Whit- 
aker thought  it 11  not  improbable  that  he  died  of  a broken  heart 
in  consequence  of  the  ruin  of  his  family.”  Henry  left  no  male 
issue. 

The  career  of  Sir  Stephen  seems  to  have  been  doomed  to 
misfortune,  for  there  were  influences  that  might  have  saved 
him.  He  had  been  in  the  train  of  the  Earl  of  Cumberland, 
the  same  who  afterwards  held  Skipton  Castle  against  the 
rebels.  Whitaker  says  “ he  forsook  his  patron  in  the  hour  of 
trial.”  This  seems  rather  a harsh  way  of  judging  a Catholic, 
who  believed  himself  to  be  fighting  for  God  and  His  spoliated 
Church  against  a tyrannical  king.  I notice  that  in  our  own 
day  the  Erench  Republican  Government  cannot  take  the 
smallest  measure  against  the  religious  houses,  cannot  even  re- 
quire them  to  obey  the  ordinary  law  of  the  country,  but  there 
is  immediately  an  outcry  in  all  the  English  newspapers ; yet  the 
measures  of  the  Third  Republic  have  been  to  those  of  Henry 
VIII.  what  that  same  Third  Republic  is  to  the  Eirst.  All 
that  can  be  fairly  urged  against  Sir  Stephen  Hamerton  is  that 
“ after  having  availed  himself  of  the  King’s  pardon,  he  revolted 
a second  time.” 

There  is  nothing  else,  that  I remember,  in  the  history  of 
our  family  that  is  likely  to  have  any  interest  for  readers  who 
do  not  belong  to  it.  Sir  Richard  Hamerton,  of  Hamerton, 
married  in  1461  a sister  of  the  bloody  Lord  Clifford  who  was 
slain  at  Towton  Eield,  and  that  is  the  nearest  connection  that 
we  have  ever  had  with  any  well-known  historical  character. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


193 


Through  marriages  we  are  descended,  in  female  lines,  from 
many  historical  personages,1  — a matter  of  no  interest  to  the 
reader,  though  I acknowledge  enough  of  the  ancestral  senti- 
ment to  have  my  own  interest  in  them  quickened  by  my 
descent  from  them. 

Another  consequence  of  belonging  to  a well-connected  old 
family  was  that  I sometimes,  in  my  youth,  met  with  people 
who  were  related  to  me,  and  who  were  aware  of  it,  although 
the  relationship  was  very  distant.  I recollect,  for  instance, 
that  one  of  the  officers  in  our  militia  regiment  remembered 
his  descent  from  our  family,  and  though  I had  never  seen  him 
before  it  was  a sort  of  lien  between  us. 

The  Hamertons  do  not  seem  to  have  distinguished  them- 
selves in  anything  except  marrying  heiresses,  and  in  that  they 
were  remarkably  successful.  At  first  a moderately  wealthy 
family,  they  became  immensely  wealthy  by  the  accumulation 
of  heiresses’  estates,  and  after  being  ruined  by  confiscation 
they  began  the  same  process  over  again;  but  being  at  the 
same  time  either  imprudent  or  careless,  or  too  much  burdened 
with  children  (my  great-grandfather  had  a dozen  brothers  and 
sisters),  they  have  not  kept  their  lands.  One  of  my  uncles 
said  to  me  that  the  Hamertons  won  property  in  no  other  way 
than  by  marriage,  and  that  they  were  almost  incapable  of 
retaining  it;  he  himself  had  the  one  talent  of  his  race,  but 
was  an  exception  to  their  incapacity.  In  justice  to  our  family 
I may  add  that  we  are  said  to  make  indulgent  husbands  and 
fathers,  — two  characters  incompatible  with  avarice,  and 
sometimes  even  with  prudence  when  the  circumstances  are 
not  easy. 

On  a later  occasion  I made  a little  tour  in  Craven  with  a 
friend  who  had  a tandem,  and  we  stopped  at  Hellifield,  where 
I sketched  the  Peel.  Whilst  I sat  at  work  the  then  repre- 
sentative of  the  family,  my  father’s  first  cousin,  came  out 
upon  the  lawn;  but  I did  not  speak  to  him,  nor  did  he  take 
any  notice  of  me.  He  was  a fine,  hale  man  of  about  eighty. 

The  nearness  of  Hellifield  to  Hollins  was  brought  home 

1 Some  in  the  extinct  Peerage,  and  others  belonging  to  royal  families 
of  England  and  France  which  have  since  lost  their  thrones  by  revolution. 

13 


194 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


to  me  very  strongly  on  that  occasion.  It  was  late  afternoon 
when  I finished  my  sketch,  and  yet,  as  we  had  very  good 
horses,  we  reached  home  easily  the  same  evening.  So  near 
and  yet  so  far!  As  I have  said  already  in  the  third  chap- 
ter, my  grandfather’s  wife  and  children  never  even  saw  his 
brother’s  house,  and  during  my  own  youth  the  place  had 
seemed  as  distant  and  unreal  as  one  of  the  old  towers  that  I 
had  read  about  in  northern  poetry  and  romance. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


195 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

1857. 

Expedition  to  the  Highlands  in  1857. — Kindness  of  the  Marquis  of 
Breadalbane  and  others.  — Camp  life,  its  strong  and  peculiar  attrac- 
tion. — My  servant.  — Young  Helliwell.  — Scant  supplies  in  the  camp. 

— Nature  of  the  camp.  — Necessity  for  wooden  floors  in  a bad  climate. 

— Double-hulled  boats.  — Practice  of  landscape-painting.  — Changes 
of  effect.  — Influences  that  governed  my  way  of  study  in  those  days.  — 
Attractive  character  of  the  Scottish  Highlands.  — Their  scenery  not 
well  adapted  for  beginners.  — My  intense  love  of  it. 

In  the  year  1857  I made  the  expedition  to  the  Highlands 
which  afterwards  became  well  known  in  consequence  of  my 
book  about  it. 

The  Marquis  of  Breadalbane  (the  first  Marquis)  granted  me 
in  the  kindest  way  permission  to  pitch  my  camp  wherever  I 
liked  on  his  extensive  estate,  and  at  the  same  time  gave  me 
an  invitation  to  Taymouth  Castle.  The  Duke  of  Argyll  gave 
me  leave  to  encamp  on  an  island  in  Loch  Awe  that  belonged 
to  him,  and  Mr.  Campbell  of  Monzie  granted  leave  to  encamp 
on  his  property  on  the  Cladich  side  of  the  lake.  I ought  to 
have  gone  to  Taymouth  to  thank  Lord  Breadalbane  and  accept 
the  hospitality  he  had  offered,  but  it  happened  that  he  had 
not  fixed  a date,  so  I avoided  Taymouth.  This  was  wrong, 
hut  young  men  are  generally  either  forward  or  backward. 
The  Marquis  afterwards  expressed  himself,  to  a third  person, 
as  rather  hurt  that  I had  not  been  to  see  him. 

My  advice  to  any  young  man  who  reads  this  hook  is  always 
to  show  that  he  appreciates  kindness  when  it  is  offered. 
There  is  not  very  much  of  it  in  the  world,  but  there  is  some, 
and  it  is  not  enough  merely  to  feel  grateful;  we  ought  to 
accept  kindness  with  visible  satisfaction.  One  of  my  regrets 
now  is  to  have  sometimes  failed  in  this,  usually  out  of  mere 
shyness,  particularly  where  great  people  were  concerned. 


196 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


Here  is  another  instance.  When  going  to  Inverary  on  the 
steamer,  I made  the  acquaintance  of  a very  pleasant  Scotch- 
man, who  turned  out  to  be  the  Laird  of  Lamont,  on  Loch 
Fyne  side.  He  took  an  interest  in  my  artistic  projects,  and 
very  kindly  invited  me  to  go  and  see  him.  Nothing  would 
have  been  easier,  — I was  as  free  as  a fish,  and  might  have 
sailed  down  Loch  Fyne  any  day  on  my  own  boat,  — yet  I 
never  went. 

The  book  called  “ A Painter’s  Camp  ” gave  a sufficient 
account  of  my  first  summer  in  the  Highlands,  which  was  not 
distinguished  by  much  variety,  as  I remained  almost  exclu- 
sively at  Loch  Awe ; but  the  novelty  of  camp  life  by  choice 
seems  to  have  interested  many  readers,  though  they  must 
have  been  already  perfectly  familiar  with  camp  life  by  neces- 
sity in  the  practice  of  armies  and  the  experience  of  African 
travellers.  The  true  explanation  of  my  proceedings  is  the 
intense  and  peculiar  charm  that  there  is  about  encamping  in 
a wild  and  picturesque  country.  I had  tasted  this  on  the 
Lancashire  moors,  and  I wanted  to  taste  it  again.  Just  now, 
whilst  writing,  I have  on  my  table  a letter  from  an  English 
official  in  Africa,  who  tells  me  of  his  camp  life.  He  says: 
“ The  wagon  was  generally  my  sleeping  quarter.  I had  two 
tents  and  a riding  horse,  and  very  seldom  slept  in  a house  or 
put  the  horse  in  a stable.  Such  a life  was  ever , and  is  now , 
to  me  the  acme  of  bliss.  No  man  can  be  said  to  have  really 
lived  who  has  not  camped  out  in  some  such  way,  and  1 know 
well  that  you  especially  will  say  Amen  ! to  this  sentiment. 
Since  1848,  I have  lived  altogether  for  about  six  years  in  the 
open,  and  have  never  caught  a cold.  Only,  through  impru- 
dent uncovering  of  the  head,  once  in  1855,  whilst  drawing  the 
topography  of  a mountain,  I was  struck  down  by  sunstroke.  ” 

The  reasons  for  this  intense  attraction  in  camp  life  are  prob- 
ably complex.  One  certainly  is  that  it  brings  us  nearer  to 
nature,  but  a still  deeper  reason  may  be  that  it  revives  obscure 
associations  that  belong  to  the  memory  of  the  race,  and  not 
to  that  of  the  individual.  Camping  is  in  the  same  category 
with  yachting,  fishing,  and  the  chase,  — a thing  practised  by 
civilized  man  for  his  amusement,  because  it  permits  him  to 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


197 


resume  the  habits  of  less  civilized  generations.  The  delight 
of  encamping,  for  a young  man  in  vigorous  health,  is  the 
enforced  activity  in  the  open  air  that  is  inseparably  connected 
with  it. 

I had  only  one  servant,  a young  man  from  the  moorland 
country  on  the  borders  of  Lancashire  and  Yorkshire,  perfectly 
well  adapted  to  life  in  the  Highlands.  He  had  excellent 
health,  and  was  physically  a good  specimen  of  our  north- 
English  race.  It  was  a pleasure  to  see  his  tall  straight  figure 
going  over  the  roughest  ground  with  no  appearance  of  hurry, 
but  in  fact  with  such  unostentatious  swiftness  that  few  sports- 
men could  follow  him.  I was  myself  active  enough  then, 
and  accustomed  to  wild  places,  but  he  always  restrained  him- 
self when  we  did  any  mountain  work  together.  He  afterwards 
became  well  known  as  the  “ Thursday  ” of  the  “ Painter’s 
Camp,”  but  I may  give  his  real  name  here,  which  was  Young 
Helliwell.  Temperate,  hardy,  and  extremely  prudent,  not 
to  he  caught  by  any  allurements  of  vulgar  pleasure,  he  lived 
wisely  in  youth,  and  will  probably  have  fewer  regrets  than 
most  people  in  his  old  age. 

Young  had  studied  the  art  of  simple  cookery  at  Hollins,  so 
he  was  able  to  keep  me  tolerably  well  when  we  happened  to 
have  anything  to  eat,  which  was  not  always.  There  were  no 
provision  shops  on  Lochaweside;  Inverary  was  at  some  dis- 
tance in  one  direction  and  Oban  in  the  other,  and  as  I had 
never  given  a thought  to  feeding  before,  I was  an  utterly 
incompetent  provider.  The  consequence  was  that  we  fasted 
like  monks,  except  that  our  abstinence  was  not  on  any  regular 
principle ; in  fact,  sometimes  we  had  so  little  to  eat  for  days 
together  that  we  began  to  feel  quite  weak.  This  gave  us  no 
anxiety,  and  we  only  laughed  at  it,  undereating  being  always 
more  conducive  to  good  spirits  than  its  opposite,  provided 
that  it  is  not  carried  too  far. 

The  camp  consisted  of  three  structures,  — my  hut,  which 
was  made  of  wooden  panels  with  plate-glass  windows;  a tent 
for  Young,  with  a wooden  floor,  and  wooden  sides  to  the  height 
of  three  feet;  lastly,  a military  bell-tent  that  served  for  storing 
things.  My  hut  was  both  painting-room  and  habitation,  but 


198 


A UTOBIO  GRAPHY. 


it  would  have  been  better  to  have  had  a separate  painting- 
room  on  rather  a larger  scale.  Mr.  Herkomer  afterwards 
imitated  the  hut  for  painting  from  nature  in  Wales,  and  he 
introduced  a clever  improvement  by  erecting  his  hut  on  a 
circular  platform  with  a ring-rail,  so  that  it  could  be  turned 
at  will  to  any  point  of  the  compass.  Young’s  tent  was,  in 
fact,  also  a kind  of  hut  with  a square  tent  for  a roof. 

In  a climate  like  that  of  the  West  Highlands,  wooden  floors 
at  least  are  almost  indispensable;  but  a camp  so  arranged 
ceases  to  be  a travelling  camp  unless  you  have  men  and  horses 
in  your  daily  service  like  a Shah  of  Persia.  It  may  be  moved 
two  or  three  times  in  a summer. 

I have  always  had  a fancy  for  double-hulled  boats  (now 
generally  called  catamarans),  and  had  two  of  them  on  Loch 
Awe.  This  eccentricity  was  perhaps  fortunate,  as  my  boats 
were  extremely  safe,  each  hull  being  decked  from  stem  to 
stern  and  divided  internally  into  water-tight  compartments. 
They  could  therefore  ship  a sea  with  perfect  impunity,  and 
although  often  exposed  to  sudden  and  violent  squalls,  we 
were  never  in  any  real  danger.  One  of  my  catamarans  would 
beat  to  windward  tolerably  well,  but  she  did  not  tack  quickly, 
and  occasionally  missed  stays.  However,  these  defects  were 
of  slight  importance  in  a boat  not  intended  for  racing,  and 
small  enough  to  be  always  quite  manageable  with  oars.  Since 
those  days  I have  much  improved  the  construction  of  cata- 
marans, so  that  their  evolutions  are  now  quicker  and  more 
certain.  They  are  absolutely  the  only  sailing-boats  that  com- 
bine lightness  with  safety  and  speed. 

As  to  the  practice  of  landscape-painting,  I very  soon  found 
that  the  West  Highlands  were  not  favorable  to  painting  from 
nature  on  account  of  the  rapid  changes  of  effect.  Those 
changes  are  so  revolutionary  that  they  often  metamorphose  all 
the  oppositions  in  a natural  picture  in  the  course  of  a single 
minute.  I began  by  planting  my  hut  on  the  island  called 
Inishail,  in  the  middle  of  Loch  Awe,  with  the  intention  of 
painting  Ben  Cruachan  from  nature,  but  soon  discovered  that 
there  were  fifty  Cruachans  a day,  each  effacing  its  predecessor, 
so  my  picture  got  on  badly.  If  I painted  what  was  before 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


199 


me,  the  result  was  like  playing  successfully  a bar  or  two  from 
each  of  several  different  musical  compositions  in  the  vain 
hope  of  harmonizing  them  into  one.  If  I tried  to  paint 
my  first  impression,  it  became  increasingly  difficult  to  do 
that  when  the  mountain  itself  presented  novel  and  striking 
aspects. 

Every  artist  who  reads  this  will  now  consider  the  above 
remarks  no  better  than  a commonplace,  but  in  the  year  1857 
English  landscape -painting  was  going  through  a peculiar 
phase.  There  was,  in  some  of  the  younger  artists,  a feeling 
of  dissatisfaction  with  the  slight  and  superficial  work  too 
often  produced  from  hasty  water-color  sketches,  and  there 
was  an  honest  desire  for  more  substantial  truth  coupled  with 
the  hope  of  attaining  it  by  working  directly  from  nature. 
My  critical  master,  Mr.  Euskin,  saw  in  working  from  nature 
the  only  hope  for  the  regeneration  of  art,  and  my  practical 
master,  Mr.  Petti tt,  considered  it  the  height  of  artistic  virtue 
to  sit  down  before  nature  and  work  on  the  details  of  a large 
picture  for  eight  or  ten  weeks  together.  I was  eagerly 
anxious  to  do  what  was  considered  most  right,  and  quite  will- 
ing to  undergo  any  degree  of  inconvenience.  The  truth  is, 
perhaps,  that  (like  other  devotees)  I rather  enjoyed  the  sacri- 
fice of  convenience  for  what  seemed  to  me,  at  that  time,  the 
sacred  cause  of  veracity  in  art. 

The  Highlands  of  Scotland  were  intensely  attractive  to  me, 
as  being  a kind  of  sublimation  of  the  wild  northern  landscape 
that  I had  already  loved  in  my  native  Lancashire;  but  the 
Highlands  were  not  well  chosen  as  a field  for  self-improve- 
ment in  the  art  of  painting.  A student  ought  not  to  choose 
the  most  changeful  of  landscapes,  but  the  least  changeful;  not 
the  Highlands  or  the  English  Lake  pistrict,  but  the  dullest 
landscape  he  can  find  in  the  south  or  the  east  of  England. 
Norfolk  would  have  been  a better  country  for  me,  as  a stu- 
dent, than  Argyllshire.  If,  however,  any  prudent  adviser 
had  told  me  to  go  to  dull  scenery  in  those  days,  it  would 
have  been  like  telling  a passionate  lover  of  great  capitals  to 
go  and  live  in  a narrow  little  provincial  town.  I hated  dull, 
unromantic  scenery , and  at  the  same  time  had  the  passion  for 


200 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


mountains,  lakes,  wild  moorland,  and  everything  that  was 
rough  and  uncultivated,  — a passion  so  predominant  that  it 
resembled  rather  the  natural  instinct  of  an  animal  for  its  own 
habitat  than  the  choice  of  a reasonable  being.  I loved  every- 
thing in  the  Highlands,  even  the  bad  weather;  I delighted 
in  clouds  and  storms,  and  have  never  experienced  any  natural 
influences  more  in  harmony  with  the  inmost  feelings  of  my 
own  nature  than  those  of  a great  lake’s  dark  waters  when  they 
dashed  in  spray  on  the  rocks  of  some  lonely  islet  and  my  boat 
flew  past  in  the  gray  and  dreary  gloaming. 

“ Le  paysage,”  says  a French  critic,  “ est  un  etat  d’ame.” 
He  meant  that  what  we  seek  in  nature  is  that  which  answers 
to  the  state  of  our  own  souls.  What  is  called  dreary,  wild, 
and  melancholy  scenery  afforded  me,  at  that  time,  a kind  of 
satisfaction  more  profound  than  that  which  is  given  by  any  of 
the  human  arts.  I loved  painting,  hut  all  the  collections  in 
Europe  attracted  me  less  than  the  barren  northern  end  of  our 
own  island,  in  which  there  are  no  pictures;  I loved  architec- 
ture, and  chose  a country  that  is  utterly  destitute  of  it;  I 
delighted  in  music,  and  pitched  my  tent  where  there  was  no 
music  but  that  of  the  winds  and  the  waves. 

The  Loch  Awe  of  those  days  was  not  the  Loch  Awe  of  the 
present.  There  was  no  railway;  there  was  not  a steamer  on 
the  lake,  either  public  or  private;  there  was  no  hotel  by  the 
waterside,  only  one  or  two  small  inns,  imperceptible  in  the 
vastness  of  the  almost  uninhabited  landscape.  The  lake  was 
therefore  almost  a solitude,  and  this,  added  to  the  wildness  of 
the  climate  and  the  peculiarly  simple  and  temporary  character 
of  my  habitation,  made  nature  much  more  profoundly  impres- 
sive than  it  ever  is  amidst  the  powerful  rivalry  of  the  works 
of  man.  The  effect  on  my  mind  was,  on  the  whole,  sadden- 
ing, but  not  in  the  least  depressing.  It  was  a kind  of  poetic 
sadness  that  had  nothing  to  do  with  low  spirits.  I have 
never  been  either  merry  or  melancholy,  but  have  kept  an 
equable  cheerfulness  that  maintains  itself  serenely  enough 
even  in  solitude  and  amidst  the  desolate  aspects  of  stony  and 
barren  lands.  As  life  advances,  it  is  wise,  however,  to  seek 
the  more  cheering  influences  of  the  external  world,  and  those 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


201 


are  rather  to  be  found  in  the  brightest  and  sunniest  landscape, 
with  abundant  evidence  of  happy  human  habitation;  some 
southern  land  of  the  vine  where  the  chestnut  grows  high  on 
the  hills,  and  the  peadh  and  the  pear  ripen  richly  in  innumer- 
able gardens. 


202 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

1857-1858. 

Small  immediate  results  of  the  expedition  to  the  Highlands.  — Unsuitable 
system  of  work.  — Loss  of  time.  — I rent  the  house  and  island  of 
Innistrynich.  — My  dread  of  marriage  and  the  reasons  for  it.  — Not- 
withstanding this  I make  an  offer  and  am  refused.  — Two  young  ladies 
of  my  acquaintance.  — Idea  of  a foreign  marriage.  — Its  inconveniences. 
— Decision  to  ask  for  the  hand  of  Mdlle.  Gindriez.  — I go  to  Paris  and 
am  accepted.  — Elective  affinities. 

The  immediate  artistic  results  of  the  expedition  to  the  High- 
lands were  very  small.  I had  gone  there  to  paint  detailed 
work  from  nature,  when  I ought  to  have  gone  to  sketch,  and 
so  adapt  my  work  to  the  peculiar  character  of  the  climate. 

The  tendency  then  was  to  detail,  and  the  merit  and  value 
of  good  sketching  were  not  properly  understood.  There  has 
been  a complete  revolution,  both  in  public  and  in  artistic 
opinion,  since  those  days.  The  revival  of  etching,  which  in 
its  liveliest  and  most  spontaneous  form  is  only  sketching  on 
copper,  the  study  of  sketches  by  the  great  masters,  the  pub- 
lication of  sketches  by  modern  artists  of  eminence  in  the 
artistic  magazines,  have  all  led  to  a far  better  appreciation 
of  vitality  in  art,  and  consequently  have  tended  to  raise  good 
sketching  both  in  popular  and  in  professional  estimation.  At 
the  Paris  Exhibition  of  1889  the  Grand  Prizes  for  engraving 
were  given  to  an  English  sketching  etcher,  Haden,  and  to 
two  French  etchers,  Boilvin  and  Chauvel.  In  1857,  I and 
many  others  looked  upon  sketching  as  defective  work , excusa- 
ble only  on  the  plea  of  want  of  time  to  do  better.  The  omis- 
sions in  a sketch,  which  when  intelligent  are  merits,  seemed 
to  me,  on  the  contrary,  so  many  faults.  In  a word,  I knew 
nothing  about  sketching.  My  way  was  to  draw  very  care- 
fully and  accurately,  and  then  fill  in  the  color  and  detail  in 
the  most  painstaking  fashion  from  nature.  I went  by  line 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


203 


and  detail,  nobody  having  ever  taught  me  anything  about 
mass  and  tonic  values,  still  less  about  the  difference  between 
art  and  nature,  and  the  necessity  for  transposing  nature  into 
the  keys  of  art.  The  consequence  was  a great  waste  of  time, 
and  of  only  too  earnest  efforts  with  hardly  anything  to  show 
for  them. 

Here  I leave  this  subject  of  art  for  the  present,  as  it  will 
be  necessary  to  recur  to  it  later. 

My  guardian,  like  all  women,  had  an  objection  to  what  was 
not  customary,  and  as  my  camp  was  considered  a piece  of 
eccentricity,  she  wanted  me  to  take  a house  on  Lochaweside. 
The  island  called  Innistrynich,  which  is  near  the  shore, 
where  the  road  from  Inverary  to  Dalmally  comes  nearest  to 
the  lake,  had  a house  upon  it  that  happened  to  be  untenanted. 
There  were  twelve  small  rooms,  and  the  camping  experience 
had  made  me  very  easy  to  please.  It  was  possible  to  have 
the  whole  island  (about  thirty  acres)  as  a home  farm , so  I took 
it  on  a lease.  This  turned  out  a misfortune  afterwards,  as  I 
got  tied  to  the  place,  not  only  by  the  lease,  but  by  a binding 
affection  which  was  extremely  inconvenient,  and  led  to  very 
unfortunate  consequences. 

My  dear  guardian  had  another  idea.  Though  she  had  pru- 
dently avoided  marriage  on  her  own  account,  she  thought  it 
very  desirable  for  me,  and  sometimes  recurred  to  the  subject. 
Her  heart  complaint  made  her  own  life  extremely  precarious, 
and  she  wished  me  to  have  the  stay  and  anchorage  of  a second 
affection  that  might  make  the  world  less  dreary  for  me  after 
she  had  left  it.  At  the  same  time  it  may  be  suspected  that 
she  looked  to  marriage  as  the  best  chance  of  converting  me 
to  her  own  religious  opinions,  or  at  least  of  obtaining  outward 
conformity.  To  confess  the  plain  truth,  I had  a great  dread 
of  marriage,  and  not  at  all  from  any  aversion  to  feminine 
society,  or  from  any  insensibility  to  love. 

My  two  reasons  were  these,  and  all  subsequent  observation 
and  experience  have  confirmed  them.  For  a person  given  up 
to  intellectual  and  artistic  pursuits  there  is  a special  value 
in  mental  and  pecuniary  independence.  So  far  as  I could 
observe  married  men  in  England,  they  enjoyed  very  little 


204 


A UTOBIO  GRAPHY. 


mental  independence,  being  obliged,  on  the  most  important 
questions,  to  succumb  to  the  opinions  of  their  wives,  because 
what  is  called  “ the  opinion  of  Society  ” is  essentially  femi- 
nine opinion.  In  our  class  the  ladies  were  all  strong  Church- 
women  and  Tories,  and  the  men  I most  admired  for  the 
combination  of  splendid  talents  with  high  principle,  were  to 
them  (so  far  as  they  knew  anything  about  such  men)  objects 
of  reprobation  and  abhorrence.  No  mother  was  ever  loved 
by  a son  more  devotedly  than  my  guardian  was  by  me,  and 
yet  her  intolerance  would  have  been  hard  to  bear  in  a wife. 
Kind  as  she  always  was  in  manner,  the  theological  injus- 
tice which  had  been  instilled  into  her  mind  from  infancy 
made  her  look  upon  me  as  bad  company  for  my  friends,  as  a 
heretic  likely  to  contaminate  their  orthodoxy.  I could  bear 
that,  or  anything,  from  her,  but  I determined  that  if  I mar- 
ried at  all  it  should  not  be  to  live  under  perpetual  theological 
disapprobation. 

The  other  grave  objection  to  marriage  was  the  dread  of 
losing  pecuniary  independence.  I cared  nothing  for  luxury 
and  display,  having  an  unaffected  preference  for  plain  living, 
and  being  easily  bored  by  the  elaborate  observances  of  fine 
society,  so  that  comparative  poverty  had  no  terrors  for  me  on 
that  account;  but  there  was  another  side  to  the  matter.  A 
student  clings  to  his  studies,  and  dreads  the  interference  that 
may  take  him  away  from  them.  An  independent  bachelor 
can  afford  to  follow  unremunerative  study;  a married  man, 
unless  he  is  rich , must  lay  out  his  time  to  the  best  pecuniary 
advantage.  His  hours  are  at  the  disposal  of  the  highest 
bidder. 

There  was  a young  lady  in  Burnley  for  whom  I had  had 
a boyish  attachment  long  before,  and  whom  I saw  very  fre- 
quently at  her  father’s  house  in  the  years  preceding  1858. 
He  was  a banker  in  very  good  circumstances,  and  a kind 
friend  of  mine,  as  intimate,  perhaps,  as  was  possible  con- 
sidering the  difference  of  years.  He  had  been  a Wrangler  at 
Cambridge,  and  now  employed  his  forcible  and  fully  matured 
intellect  freely  on  all  subjects  that  came  in  his  way,  without 
deference  to  the  popular  opinions  of  the  hour.  These  quali- 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


205 


ties,  Tare  enough  in  the  upper  middle  class  of  those  days, 
made  him  very  interesting  to  me,  and  I liked  my  place  in  an 
easy-chair  opposite  to  his,  when  he  was  in  the  humor  for 
talking.  He  had  three  handsome  daughters,  and  his  eldest 
son  had  been  my  school-fellow,  and  was  still,  occasionally  at 
least,  one  of  my  companions.  Their  mother  was  a remark- 
ably handsome  and  amiable  lady,  so  that  the  house  was  as 
pleasant  as  any  house  could  be.  We  had  music  and  played 
quintets,  and  the  eldest  daughter  sometimes  played  a duet 
with  me.  She  was  a good  amateur  musician,  well  educated 
in  other  ways,  and  with  a great  charm  of  voice  and  manner. 
Under  these  circumstances  it  is  not  surprising  that  the  old 
boyish  attachment  revived  on  my  side,  though  there  was 
nothing  answering  to  it  on  hers. 

My  good  friend,  her  father,  sometimes  talked  to  me  about 
marriage,  and  expressed  the  regret  that  in  a state  of  civiliza- 
tion like  ours,  and  in  our  class,  a family  of  children  should 
he  a cause  of  weakness  instead  of  strength.  In  a primitive 
agricultural  community,  sons  are  of  great  value,  they  are  an 
increase  of  the  family  force;  in  a highly-civilized  condition, 
they  only  weaken  the  father  by  draining  away  his  income. 
“ Daughters,”  said  my  friend,  “are  of  use  in  primitive  socie- 
ties and  in  the  English  middle  class,  because  they  do  the 
work  of  the  house,  and  spare  servants;  but  our  young  ladies 
do  nothing  of  the  least  use,  and  require  to  be  first  expensively 
educated,  and  afterwards  expensively  amused.”  My  friend 
then  went  into  details  about  the  cost  of  his  own  family, 
which  was  heavy  without  extravagance  or  ostentation.  All 
this  was  intended  to  warn  me,  hut  I asked  if  he  had  any 
objection  to  me  personally  as  a son-in-law.  He  answered, 
with  all  the  kindness  I expected,  that  there  was  no  objection 
to  make  (he  was  too  intelligent  to  see  anything  criminal  in 
my  philosophical  opinions),  and  that  in  what  he  had  said 
about  the  costliness  of  marriage  he  had  spoken  merely  as  a 
friend,  thinking  of  the  weight  of  the  burden  I might  he  tak- 
ing upon  myself,  and  the  inconvenience  to  my  own  life  in  the 
future. 

One  afternoon  his  daughter  and  I were  alone  together,  play- 


206 


A UTOBIO  GRAPHY. 


ing  a duet,  when  I asked  her  if  she  would  have  me,  and  she 
laughingly  declined.  I remember  being  so  little  hurt  by  the 
refusal  that  I said:  “ That  is  not  the  proper  way  to  refuse  an 
offer;  you  ought  to  express  a little  regret — you  might  say, 
at  least,  that  you  are  sorry.”  Then  the  young  lady  laughed 
again,  and  said:  “Very  well,  I will  say  that  I am  sorry,  if 
you  wish  it.”  And  so  we  parted,  without  any  further  expres- 
sion of  sentiment  on  either  side. 

I never  could  understand  why  men  make  themselves 
wretched  after  a refusal.  It  only  proves  that  the  young  lady 
does  not  care  very  much  for  one,  and  it  is  infinitely  better 
that  she  should  let  him  know  that  before  marriage  than  after. 
It  was  soon  quite  clear  to  me  that,  in  this  case,  the  young 
lady’s  decision  had  been  the  wise  one.  We  were  not  really 
suited  for  each  other,  and  we  should  never  have  been  happy, 
both  of  us,  in  the  same  kind  of  existence.  Perhaps  she  was 
rather  difficult  to  please,  or  indifferent  to  marriage,  for  she 
never  accepted  anybody,  and  is  living  still  (1889)  in  happy 
independence  as  an  old  maid,  within  a short  distance  of 
Hellifield  Peel.  I had  a little  indirect  evidence,  thirty 
years  afterwards,  that  she  had  not  forgotten  me.  Most  likely 
she  will  survive  me  and  read  this.  If  she  does,  let  the  page 
convey  a complete  acknowledgment  of  her  good  sense. 

This  was  the  only  offer  of  marriage  I ever  made  in  Eng- 
land. There  was  a certain  very  wealthy  heiress  whose  uncle 
was  extremely  kind  to  me,  and  he  pushed  his  kindness  so  far 
as  to  wish  me  to  marry  her.  She  was  well-bred,  her  manners 
were  quite  equal  to  her  fortune,  and  she  had  a good  appear- 
ance, but  the  idea  of  marriage  did  not  occur  to  either  of  us. 
Some  time  afterwards,  her  uncle  said  to  a friend  of  mine: 
“ I cannot  understand  Hamerton;  I wanted  him  to  marry  my 
niece,  and  he  has  gone  and  married  a French  woman.”  “ Oh!  ” 
said  the  other,  “ that  was  only  to  improve  his  French!  ” 

There  was  another  case  that  I would  have  passed  in  silence, 
had  not  people  in  Lancashire  persistently  circulated  a story 
of  an  offer  and  a refusal.  A young  lady,  also  a rich  heiress, 
though  not  quite  so  “ rich  as  the  other,  had  a property  a few 
miles  distant  from  mine.  She  was  a very  attractive  girl, 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


207 


very  pretty,  and  extremely  intelligent,  and  we  were  very  good 
friends.  To  say,  in  this  case,  that  the  idea  of  marriage  never 
occurred  would  be  untrue ; but  when  I first  knew  her  she  was 
hardly  more  than  a child,  and  afterwards  it  became  apparent 
to  me  that  to  live  happily  in  her  house  I should  have  to 
stifle  all  my  opinions  on  important  subjects,  so  I never  made 
the  offer  that  our  friends  and  perhaps  she  herself  expected. 
Whether  she  would  have  accepted  me  or  not  is  quite  another 
question.  Had  I made  any  proposal  I should  have  accom- 
panied it  by  a very  plain  statement  of  my  obnoxious  opinions 
on  religion  and  politics,  and  these  would  almost  certainly 
have  produced  a rupture.  After  my  marriage,  and  before 
hers,  we  met  again  in  the  old  friendly  way.  I was  paying  a 
call  with  my  wife,  in  a country  house  in  Lancashire,  when  a 
carriage  came  up  the  drive  — her  carriage  — and  the  lady  of 
the  house,  extremely  fluttered,  asked  me  if  I had  no  objec- 
tion to  meet  Miss . “ On  the  contrary,”  I said,  “ I like 

to  meet  old  friends.”  The  young  lady  visibly  enjoyed  the 
humor  of  the  situation,  and  the  embarrassment  of  our  hostess. 
We  talked  easily  in  the  old  way,  and  afterwards  my  wife  and 
I left  on  foot,  and  her  carriage  passed  us,  rather  stately,  with 
servants  in  livery.  “ There  goes  your  most  dangerous  rival,” 
I said  to  my  wife,  and  told  her  what  story  there  was  to  tell. 
“ She  is  much  prettier  than  I am,”  was  the  modest  answer, 
“ and  evidently  a good  deal  richer;  and  she  is  a charming  per- 
son.” In  due  time  Miss married  very  suitably.  Her 

husband  is  a good  Churchman  and  Conservative,  who  takes  a 
proper  interest  in  the  pursuits  belonging  to  his  station. 

My  guardian  was  of  opinion  that  with  my  philosophical 
convictions,  which  were  at  that  time  not  only  unpopular,  but 
odious  and  execrated  in  our  own  class  in  England,  I should 
have  to  remain  an  old  bachelor.  She  herself  would  certainly 
never  have  married  an  unbeliever,  and  although  her  great 
personal  affection  for  me  made  her  glad  to  have  me  in  the 
house,  she  must  have  felt  that  it  was  like  sheltering  a pariah. 
Her  sister  once  heard  some  rumor  or  suggestion,  connecting 
my  name  with  that  of  a pious  young  lady,  and  looked  upon 
it  as  a sort  of  sacrilege.  Under  these  circumstances  I came 


208 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


at  last  to  the  conclusion  that,  being  under  a ban,  I would 
at  least  enjoy  my  liberty,  either  by  living  my  own  life  as  a 
bachelor,  or  else  by  marrying  purely  and  simply  according 
to  inclination,  without  any  reference  to  the  opinion  of  other 
people. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  the  idea  of  a foreign  marriage  first 
occurred  to  me  as  a possibility.  I had  never  thought  of  it 
before,  and  if  such  an  idea  had  entered  my  head,  the  clear 
foresight  of  the  enormous  inconveniences  would  have  imme- 
diately expelled  it.  A foreign  marriage  is,  in  fact,  quite  an 
accumulation  of  inconveniences.  One  of  the  two  parties  must 
always  be  living  in  a foreign  country,  and  in  all  their  inter- 
course together  one  of  the  two  must  always  be  speaking  a 
foreign  language.  The  families  of  the  two  parties  will  never 
know  each  other  or  understand  each  other  properly;  there 
will  be  either  estrangement  or  misunderstanding.  And  unless 
there  is  great  largeness  of  mind  in  the  parties  themselves,  the 
difference  of  national  customs  is  sure  to  produce  quarrels. 

All  this  was  plain  enough,  and  yet  one  morning,  when  I 
was  writing  on  my  desk  (a  tall  oak  desk  that  I used  to  stand 
up  to),  the  idea  suddenly  came,  as  if  somebody  had  uttered 
these  words  in  my  ear : “ Why  should  you  remain  lonely  all 
your  days  ? Eugenie  Gindriez  would  be  an  affectionate  and 
faithful  wife  to  you.  She  is  not  rich,  but  you  would  work 
and  fight  your  way.  ” 

I pushed  aside  the  sheet  of  manuscript  and  took  a sheet  of 
note-paper  instead.  I then  wrote,  in  French,  a letter  to  a 
lady  in  Paris  who  knew  the  Gindriez  family,  and  asked  her 
if  Mademoiselle  Eugenie  was  engaged  to  be  married.  The 
answer  came  that  she  was  well,  and  that  there  had  been  no 
engagement.  Soon  afterwards  I was  in  Paris. 

I called  on  M.  Gindriez,  but  his  daughter  was  not  at  home. 
I asked  permission  to  call  in  the  evening,  and  she  was  out 
again.  This  was  repeated  two  or  three  times,  and  my  wife 
told  me  afterwards  that  the  absences  had  not  been  accidental. 
At  last  we  met,  and  there  was  nothing  in  her  manner  but 
a certain  gravity,  as  if  serious  resolutions  were  impending. 
Her  sister  showed  no  such  reserve,  but  greeted  me  gayly  and 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


209 


frankly.  After  a few  days,  I was  accepted  on  the  condition 
of  an  annual  visit  to  France. 

From  a worldly  point  of  view,  this  engagement  was  what 
is  called  in  French  une  folie , on  my  part,  and  hardly  less  so 
on  the  part  of  the  young  lady.  We  had,  however,  a kind  of 
inward  assurance  that  in  spite  of  the  difference  of  nationality 
and  other  differences,  we  were,  in  truth,  nearer  to  each  other 
than  most  people  who  contract  matrimonial  engagements. 
The  “ elective  affinities  ” act  in  spite  of  all  appearances  and 
of  many  realities. 

We  have  often  talked  over  that  time  since,  and  have  con- 
fessed that  we  really  knew  hardly  anything  of  each  other, 
that  our  union  was  but  an  instinctive  choice.  However,  in 
1858  I had  neither  doubt  nor  anxiety,  and  in  1889  I have 
neither  anxiety  nor  doubt. 


14 


210 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

1858. 

Reception  at  home  after  engagement.  — Preparations  at  Innistrynich.  — I 
arrive  alone  in  Paris.  — My  marriage.  — The  religious  ceremony.  — An 
uncomfortable  wedding.  — The  sea  from  Dieppe.  — London.  — The 
Academy  Exhibition  of  1858.  — Impressions  of  a French  woman. — 
The  Turner  collection.  — The  town.  — Loch  Awe.  — The  element  want- 
ing to  happiness. 

On  returning  home  after  my  engagement  I was  greeted  very 
affectionately  at  the  front  door  by  my  dear  guardian,  who 
expressed  many  wishes  for  my  future  happiness;  hut  her  sister 
sat  motionless  and  rigid  in  an  arm-chair  in  the  dining-room, 
and  did  not  seem  disposed  to  take  any  notice  of  me.  From 
that  time  until  long  after  my  marriage  she  treated  me  with 
the  most  distant  coldness,  varied  occasionally  by  a bitter 
innuendo. 

I said  nothing  and  bore  all  patiently,  looking  forward  to  a 
speedy  deliverance.  There  was  much  in  the  circumstances  to 
excuse  my  aunt,  who  was  intensely  aristocratic  and  intensely 
national.  She  was  the  proudest  person  I ever  knew,  and 
would  have  considered  any  marriage  a misalliance  for  me  if 
my  wife’s  family  had  not  had  as  long  a pedigree  as  ours,  and 
as  many  quarterings  as  the  fifteen  that  adorned  our  shield. 
Being  a stanch  Protestant,  she  was  not  disposed  to  look 
favorably  on  a Roman  Catholic,  unless  she  belonged  to  one  of 
the  old  English  Catholic  families.  Her  ideas  of  the  French 
nation  were  those  prevalent  in  England  during  the  wars 
against  Napoleon.  She  had  probably  counted  upon  me  to 
do  something  to  lift  up  a falling  house,  and  instead  of  that 
I was  going  to  marry  she  knew  not  whom.  It  is  impossible 
to  argue  against  national  and  class  prejudices;  the  fact  was 
simply  that  my  wife’s  family  belonged  to  the  educated  French 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


211 


middle  class.  Her  uncle  was  a well-to-do  attorney  in  Dijon,1 
and  her  father  had  gone  through  a perfectly  honorable  politi- 
cal career,  both  as  deputy  and  prefect.  My  wife  herself  had 
been  better  educated  than  most  girls  at  that  time,  and  both 
spoke  and  wrote  her  own  language  not  only  correctly,  but 
with  more  than  ordinary  elegance,  — a taste  she  inherited 
from  her  father.  As  to  her  person,  she  dressed  simply,  but 
always  with  irreproachable  neatness,  and  a scrupulous  cleanli- 
ness that  richer  women  might  sometimes  imitate  with  advan- 
tage. These  were  the  plain  facts;  what  my  aunt  imagined  is 
beyond  guessing. 

Before  my  marriage  I went  to  Loch  Awe,  to  prepare  the 
house  on  Innistrynich  and  furnish  it.  Of  all  strange  places 
in  the  world  for  a young  Parisienne  to  be  brought  to,  surely 
Innistrynich  was  the  least  suitable!  My  way  in  those  days 
was  the  usual  human  way  of  thinking,  that  what  is  good  for 
one’s  self  is  good  for  everybody  else.  Did  I not  know  by  expe- 
rience that  the  solitude  of  Loch  Awe  was  delightful  1 Must 
not  my  Paradise  be  a Paradise  for  any  daughter  of  Eve  ? 

It  was  a charming  bachelor’s  paradise  the  morning  I left 
for  Paris,  a bright  May  morning,  the  loch  lying  calm  in  its 
great  basin,  the  islands  freshly  green  with  the  spring.  At 
Cladich  the  people,  who  knew  I was  going  to  fetch  a bride, 
threw  old  shoes  after  the  carriage  for  luck.  It  did  not  rain 
rice  at  Loch  Awe  in  those  days. 

I was  an  excellent  traveller  then,  and  did  not  get  into  a 
bed  before  arriving  in  Paris.  There  was  a day  in  London 
between  two  nights  of  railway,  a day  spent  in  looking  at 
pictures  and  making  a few  purchases.  At  Paris  I went  to  a 
quiet  hotel  in  the  Cit^  Bergere.  I was  utterly  alone;  no 
relation  or  friend  came  with  me  to  my  marriage.  Somebody 
told  me  a best  man  was  necessary,  so  I asked  a French 
acquaintance  to  be  best  man,  and  he  consented.  The  morn- 

1 Very  nearly  in  the  same  social  position  as  my  own  father.  His 
daughter  afterwards  married  the  grandson  and  representative  of  the  cele- 
brated Count  Fran<?ais  de  Nantes,  who  filled  various  high  oflices  in  the 
State,  and  was  grand  officer  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  and  Peer  of  France. 
A fine  portrait  of  him  by  David  is  amongst  their  family  pictures. 


212 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


ing  of  my  wedding  there  was  a gar^on  brushing  the  waxed 
oak  floor  on  the  landing  near  my  door.  I had  a flowered 
white  silk  waistcoat,  and  the  man  said:  “ Monsieur  est  bien 
beau  ce  matin;  on  dirait  qu’il  va  a une  noce.”  I answered: 
“ Yous  avez  bien  devine;  en  effet,  je  vais  k une  noce.”  It 
was  unnecessary  to  give  him  further  information. 

The  marriage  was  a curious  little  ceremony.  My  wife’s 
father  had  friends  and  acquaintances  in  the  most  various 
classes,  who  all  came  to  the  wedding.  Some  men  were  there 
who  were  famous  in  the  Paris  of  those  days,  and  others  whom 
I had  never  heard  of,  hut  all  were  alike  doomed  to  disap- 
pointment. They  expected  a grand  ceremony  in  the  church, 
and  instead  of  that  we  got  nothing  hut  a brief  benediction  in 
the  vestry,  by  reason  of  my  heresy  and  schism.  The  bene- 
diction was  over  in  five  minutes,  and  we  left  in  the  pouring 
rain,  whilst  a crowd  of  people  were  waiting  for  the  ceremony 
to  begin.  My  wife,  like  all  French  girls,  would  have  liked 
an  imposing  and  important  marriage , and  lo ! there  was  noth- 
ing at  all , not  even  an  altar,  or  a censer,  or  a bell ! 

However,  we  had  been  legally  married  at  the  mairie  with 
the  civil  ceremonial,  and  as  we  were  certainly  blessed  in  the 
vestry,  nobody  can  say  that  our  union  was  unhallowed.  I 
shall  always  remember  that  benediction,  for,  brief  as  it  was, 
it  cost  me  a hundred  francs.1  A magnificent  mass  on  my 
daughter’s  marriage  cost  me  only  sixty,  which  was  a very 
reasonable  charge. 

Words  cannot  express  how  odious  to  me  are  the  fuss  and 
expense  about  a wedding.  There  was  my  father-in-law,  a 
poor  man,  who  thought  it  necessary  (indeed,  he  was  com- 
pelled by  custom)  to  order  a grand  feast  from  a famous  restau- 
rant and  give  a brilliant  ball,  as  if  he  had  been  extremely 
happy  to  lose  his  daughter,  the  delight  of  his  eyes  and  the 
brightness  of  his  home.  Everything  about  our  wedding  was 
peculiarly  awkward  and  uncomfortable.  I knew  none  of  the 
guests,  I spoke  their  language  imperfectly,  and  was  not  at 
ease,  then,  in  French  society;  we  had  to  make  talk  and  try 

1 Including  what  I had  to  pay  for  being  called  a schismatic  by  the 
Archbishop  of  Paris,  or  his  officials. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


213 


to  eat.  The  family  was  sad  about  our  departure,  the  sky  was 
gray,  the  streets  muddy  and  wet.  In  an  interval  of  tolerable 
weather  we  went  for  a drive  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  to  get 
through  the  interminable  afternoon. 

It  was  pleasanter  when,  a day  or  two  later,  my  wife  and  I 
were  looking  out  upon  the  sea  from  Dieppe.  She  had  never 
seen  salt  water  before,  and  as  it  happened  to  be  a fine  day  the 
vast  expanse  of  the  Channel  was  all  a wonderful  play  of  pale 
greens  and  blues,  like  turquoise  and  pale  emerald.  There 
were  white  clouds  floating  in  the  blue  sky,  and  here  and  there 
a white  sail  upon  the  sea.  My  wife  was  enchanted  with  this, 
to  her  fresh  young  eyes,  revelation  of  a novel  and  unimagin- 
able beauty.  It  was  a new  world  for  her,  and  that  hour  was 
absolutely  the  only  hour  in  her  life  during  which  she  thor- 
oughly enjoyed  the  sea;  for  she  is  the  worst  of  sailors,  and 
now  cannot  even  endure  the  smell  of  salt  water  at  a distance. 

The  first  thing  we  did  in  London  was  to  go  and  see  the 
Exhibition  of  the  Boyal  Academy.  My  wife,  like  her 
father,  took  a keen  interest  in  art,  and  had  been  rather  well 
acquainted  with  French  painting  for  a girl  of  her  age.  When 
she  got  into  an  English  Exhibition  she  looked  round  in 
bewildered  amazement.  It  was,  for  her,  like  being  trans- 
ported into  another  planet.  In  1858  the  difference  between 
French  and  English  painting  was  far  more  striking  than  it 
is  to-day.  French  color,  without  being  generally  good,  was 
subdued;  in  fact,  most  of  it  was  not  color  at  all,  but  only 
gray  and  brown,  with  a little  red  or  blue  here  and  there  to 
make  people  believe  that  there  was  color.  The  English,  on 
the  other  hand,  were  trying  hard  for  real  color,  but  the 
younger  men  were  in  that  crude  stage  which  is  the  natural 
“ ugly  duckling  ” condition  of  the  genuine  colorist.  The 
consequence  was  an  astounding  contrast  between  the  painting 
of  the  two  nations,  and  to  eyes  educated  in  France  English 
art  looked  outrageous  to  a degree  that  we  realize  with  the 
greatest  difficulty  now.  At  a later  period  my  wife  became 
initiated  into  the  principles  and  tendencies  of  English  paint- 
ing, and  then  she  began  to  enjoy  it.  I took  her  to  see  the 
Turner  collection  in  1858,  and  that  seemed  to  her  like  the 


214 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


ravings  of  a madman  put  on  canvas;  but  a few  years  later 
she  became  a perfectly  sincere  admirer  of  the  noblest  works  of 
Turner.  I may  add  that  in  1858  my  wife  was  already,  in 
spite  of  her  difficulty  in  understanding  what  to  her  were 
novelties,  far  more  in  sympathy  with  art  generally  than  I 
was  myself.  She  had  lived  in  a great  artistic  centre,  whilst 
I had  lived  with  nature  in  the  north,  and  cared,  at  that  time, 
comparatively  little  about  the  art  of  the  past,  my  hopes  being 
concentrated  on  a kind  of  landscape-painting  that  was  to  come 
in  the  future,  and  to  unite  the  effects  I saw  in  nature  with  a 
minute  accuracy  in  the  drawing  of  natural  forms.  The  kind 
of  painting  I was  looking  forward  to  was,  in  fact,  afterwards 
realized  by  Mr.  John  Brett. 

My  wife’s  first  impressions  of  London  generally  were 
scarcely  more  favorable  than  her  impressions  of  English 
painting,  but  they  were  of  a very  different  order.  If  the 
painting  had  appeared  too  bright,  the  town  appeared  too 
dingy.  London  is  extremely  dismal  for  all  French  people, 
whose  affection  for  their  own  country  leads  them  to  the  very 
mistaken  belief  that  the  skies,  in  France,  are  bright  all  the 
year  round.  My  wife  now  prefers  London  to  any  place  in 
the  world  except  Paris ; in  fact,  she  has  a strong  affection  for 
London,  the  consequence  of  the  kindness  she  has  received 
there,  and  also  of  the  enlightened  interest  she  takes  in  every- 
thing that  is  really  worth  attention. 

We  went  straight  from  London  to  Glasgow,  and  thence  to 
Loch  Awe,  which  happened  at  that  time  to  be  enveloped  in 
a dense  fog  that  lasted  two  days,  so  that  when  I told  my  wife 
that  there  was  a high  mountain  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
lake  she  could  hardly  believe  it.  In  fact,  nothing  was  visi- 
ble but  a still,  gray,  shoreless  sea. 

I was  now,  as  it  seemed,  in  a condition  of  great  felicity, 
being  in  the  place  I loved  best  on  earth  with  the  person  most 
dear  to  me.  Unfortunately,  the  union  of  many  different  cir- 
cumstances and  conditions  is  necessary  to  perfect  happiness, 
if  happiness  exists  in  the  world.  The  element  lacking  in  my 
case  was  success  in  work,  or  at  least  the  inward  assurance  of 
progress.  There  was  our  beautiful  island  home,  in  itself  as 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


215 


much  a poem  as  a canto  of  “ The  Lady  of  the  Lake,  ” with  its 
ancient  oaks,  its  rocky  shore,  its  green,  undulating,  park-like 
pasture;  there  was  the  lake  for  sailing  and  the  mountain  for 
climbing,  and  all  around  us  a country  of  unlimited  wealth 
of  material  for  the  sketcher.  Amidst  all  this,  with  a too 
earnest  and  painful  application,  I set  myself  to  do  what  had 
never  been  done,  — to  unite  the  color  and  effect  of  nature  to 
the  material  accuracy  of  the  photograph. 


MEMOIR 


OF 

PHILIP  GILBERT  HAMERTON 


1858-1894 


MEMOIR. 


219 


CHAPTER  L 
1858. 

My  first  sight  of  Loch  Awe.  — Arrival  at  Innistrynich.  — Our  domestic 
life.  — Difficulties  about  provisions.  — A kitchen  garden. 

When  Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton  asked  me  to  marry  him,  he 
conscientiously  attempted  to  explain  how  different  my  life 
would  be  in  the  Highlands  of  Scotland  from  that  to  which  I 
had  been  accustomed  in  Paris.  He  said  how  solitary  it  was, 
especially  in  the  winter-time;  how  entirely  devoid  of  what 
are  called  the  pleasures  of  a metropolis  — to  which  a Parisian 
lady  has  the  reputation  of  being  such  a slave  (he  knew,  how- 
ever, that  it  was  not  my  case);  and  already  his  devotion  to 
study  was  such  that  he  requested  me  to  promise  not  to  inter- 
fere with  his  work  of  any  kind  that  he  deemed  necessary,  — 
were  it  camping  out,  or  sailing  in  stormy  weather  to  observe 
nature  under  all  her  changing  aspects,  either  of  day  or  night. 

Still,  the  picture  he  drew  of  our  future  existence  was  by  no 
means  all  in  dark  colors,  for  with  the  enthusiasm  of  an  artist 
he  described  the  glories  of  the  Highlands,  the  ever-varying 
skies,  the  effects  of  light  and  shadow  on  the  mountains,  the 
beauties  of  the  lovely  isles,  and  the  charm  of  sailing  on  the 
moonlit  and  mysterious  lake.  He  also  made  me  acquainted 
with  the  numerous  legends  of  Loch  Awe  (he  had  told  them  in 
verse,  but  I was  ignorant  of  English),  which  would  lend  a 
romantic  atmosphere  to  our  island-home.  He  was  so  sensi- 
tive to  the  different  moods  of  nature  that  his  descriptions 
gave  to  a town-bred  girl  like  me  an  intense  desire  to  witness 
them  with  my  own  eyes;  and  when  I did  see  them  there  was 
no  disillusion,  and  the  effect  was  so  overpowering  that  it 
seemed  like  the  revelation  of  a new  sense  in  me.  The  first 
glimpse  I had  of  Loch  Awe,  from  the  top  of  the  coach,  was 


220 


MEMOIR. 


like  the  realization  of  a fantastic  and  splendid  dream ; I could 
not  believe  it  to  be  a reality,  and  thought  of  some  mirage; 
but  my  husband  was  delighted  by  this  first  impression. 

We  reached  Innistrynich  shortly  before  nightfall,  and  I 
was  taken  to  the  keeper’s  cottage  to  warm  myself,  whilst  the 
luggage  was  being  conveyed  across  the  bay  to  the  house. 
Though  it  was  the  end  of  May,  the  weather  had  been  so  cold 
all  the  way  that  I felt  almost  benumbed  after  the  drive;  for, 
being  accustomed  to  the  climate  of  France,  I had  taken  but 
scanty  precautions  in  the  way  of  wraps,  believing  them  to  be 
superfluous  at  that  time  of  the  year.  My  husband,  having 
begged  the  keeper’s  wife  to  take  care  of  me,  she  carried  her 
assiduities  to  a point  that  quite  confused  me,  for  I could  not 
remonstrate  in  words,  and  she  was  so  evidently  prompted  by 
kindness  that  I was  fearful  of  hurting  her  by  opposing  her 
well-meant  but  exaggerated  attentions.  She  swathed  me  in 
a Scotch  plaid,  and  placed  the  bundle  I had  become  in  a 
cushioned  and  canopied  arm-chair  by  the  peat-fire,  the  smoke 
and  unaccustomed  odor  of  which  stifled  me;  then  she  insisted 
upon  removing  my  hoots  and  stockings,  and  chafed  my  feet 
in  her  hands,  to  bring  back  a little  warmth.  Lastly,  she 
hospitably  brought  me  what  she  thought  the  best  thing  she 
had  to  offer,  a hot  whiskey  toddy.  To  please  her,  and  also  to 
relieve  my  numbness,  I tried  my  best  to  drink  what  seemed 
to  me  a horrid  mixture,  but  I could  not  manage  it,  and  could 
not  explain  why,  and  the  poor  woman  remained  lost  in  sorrow'* 
ful  bewilderment  at  my  rejection  of  the  steaming  tumbler. 
Just  then  my  husband  came  back,  and  after  thanking  the 
keeper’s  wife,  rowed  me  over  to  Innistrynich. 

It  was  then  quite  dark,  and  impossible  to  see  the  island, 
even  the  outside  of  the  cottage;  but  when  the  door  was  open, 
it  showed  the  prettiest  picture  imaginable:  the  entrance  was 
brilliantly  illuminated,  and  our  two  servants  — a maid  and 
a young  lad  (“Thursday”  of  the  “Painter’s  Camp”),  both 
healthy  and  cheerful-looking,  were  standing  ready  to  relieve 
us  of  our  wraps.  The  drawing-room  had  an  inviting  glow 
of  comfort,  with  the  generous  fire,  the  lights  of  the  elegant 
candelabra  playing  amongst  the  carvings  of  the  oak  furniture, 


MEMOIR . 


221 


and  the  tones  of  the  dark  ruddy  curtains  harmonizing  with 
the  lighter  ones  of  the  claret-colored  carpet;  an  artistic  silver 
set  of  tea-things,  which  my  husband  had  secretly  brought 
from  Paris  witli  the  candelabra,  had  been  spread  on  the  table 
ready  for  us,  and  my  appreciation  of  the  taste  and  thought- 
fulness displayed  on  my  behalf  gladdened  and  touched  the 
donor.  I had  never  before  partaken  of  tea  as  a meal,  but  it 
was  certainly  a most  delightful  repast  to  both  of  us. 

After  a short  rest,  my  husband  showed  me  the  arrangements 
of  the  house,  rich  in  surprises  to  my  foreign  notions,  but 
none  the  less  interesting  and  pleasant. 

Our  drawing-room  was  to  serve  as  dining-room  also,  for 
the  orthodox  dining-room  had  been  transformed  into  a studio 
and  sitting-room;  they  stood  opposite  to  each  other.  A little 
further  along  the  corridor  came  the  two  best  bedrooms,  which, 
at  first  sight,  gave  to  a Parisian  girl  a sensation  of  bareness 
and  emptiness,  corrected  later  by  habit.  Everything  neces- 
sary was  to  be  found  there,  — large  brass  bedsteads  with 
snowy  coverings,  all  the  modern  contrivances  for  the  toilet, 
chests  of  drawers,  each  surmounted  by  a bright  looking-glass; 
even  a number  of  tiny  and  curious  gimcracks  ornamented  the 
narrow  mantelpiece;  but  to  a French  eye  the  absence  of  cur- 
tains to  the  bed,  and  the  unconcealed  display  of  washing 
utensils,  suggested  a cabinet  de  toilette  rather  than  a bed- 
room. This  simplicity  has  now  become  quite  fashionable 
among  wealthy  French  people,  on  account  of  its  healthiness: 
the  fresh  air  playing  more  freely  and  remaining  purer  than  in 
rooms  crowded  with  stuffed  seats,  and  darkened  by  elaborate 
upholstery. 

On  the  upper  story  were  four  other  rooms,  used  as  labora- 
tory, store-room,  and  servants’  rooms;  whilst  on  the  ground- 
floor  we  had  a scullery,  a large  kitchen , a laundry,  — that  I 
used  afterwards  as  a private  kitchen,  when  my  husband  pro- 
vided it  with  a set  of  French  brass  pans  and  a charcoal  range, 
— a spare  room,  which  was  turned  into  a nursery  by  and  by, 
and  lastly,  a repository  for  my  husband’s  not  inconsiderable 
paraphernalia. 

The  first  days  after  our  arrival  were  devoted  to  sailing  or 


222 


MEMOIR. 


rowing  on  the  lake,  to  acquaint  me  with  its  topography;  soon, 
however,  we  made  rules  to  lose  no  time,  for  we  had  both 
plenty  of  work  before  us. 

My  husband,  at  that  time,  knew  French  pretty  well;  he 
could  express  everything  he  wished  to  say,  and  understood 
even  the  nuances  of  the  language,  but  his  accent  betrayed 
him  at  once  as  an  Englishman,  and  there  lingered  in  his 
speech  a certain  hesitation  about  the  choice  of  words  most 
appropriate  to  his  meaning.  As  for  me,  my  English  had 
remained  that  of  a school -girl,  and  my  husband  offered  me  his 
congratulations  on  my  extremely  limited  knowledge,  for  this 
reason  — that  I should  have  little  to  unlearn.  We  agreed,  to 
begin  with,  that  one  of  us  ought  to  know  the  other’s  language 
thoroughly,  so  as  to  establish  a perfect  understanding,  and  as 
he  was  so  much  more  advanced  in  French  than  I in  English, 
it  was  decided  that  for  a time  he  should  become  my  pupil, 
and  that  our  conversations  should  be  in  my  mother-tongue. 

On  my  part  I devoted  two  hours  a day  to  the  study  of 
English  grammar,  and  to  the  writing  of  exercises,  themes, 
and  versions.  This  task  was  fulfilled  during  my  husband’s 
absence,  or  whilst  he  was  engaged  with  his  correspondence; 
and  in  the  afternoon  I used  to  read  English  aloud  to  him, 
while  he  drew  or  painted  either  at  home  or  out  of  doors.  It 
was  his  own  scheme  of  tuition,  and  proved  most  satisfactory, 
but  required  in  the  teacher  — particularly  at  the  beginning  — 
an  ever-ready  attention  to  correct  the  pronunciation  of  almost 
every  word,  and  to  give  the  translation  of  it,  together  with  a 
great  store  of  patience  to  bear  with  the  constantly  recurring 
errors ; for  not  to  mar  my  interest  in  the  works  he  gave  me  to 
read,  I was  exempted  from  the  slow  process  of  the  dictionary. 
He  was  himself  the  best  of  dictionaries  — explaining  the  dif- 
ferences of  meaning,  giving  the  life  and  spirit  of  each  term, 
and  always  impressing  this  truth,  that  rarely  does  the  same 
expression  convey  exactly  the  same  idea  in  two  languages. 
He  frequently  failed  to  give  word  for  word,  because  he  would 
not  give  an  approximate  translation ; but  he  was  always  ready 
with  a detailed  explanation,  and  so  taught  me  to  enter  into 
the  peculiar  genius  of  the  language;  so  that  if  I did  not 


MEMOIR. 


223 


become  a good  translator,  I learned  early  to  think  and  to  feel 
in  sympathy  with  the  authors  I was  studying. 

If  the  weather  allowed  it,  Gilbert  generally  took  me  out  on 
the  lake,  and  according  to  the  prevailing  wind,  chose  some 
particular  spot  for  a study.  These  excursions  lasted  about 
half  the  day  or  more,  and  then  some  sort  of  nourishment  was 
required;  but  as  my  ignorance  of  the  language  prevented  me 
from  giving  the  necessary  orders,  the  responsibility  of  the 
commissariat  entirely  devolved  upon  him;  and  I may  can- 
didly avow  that  the  results  were  a continual  source  of  sur- 
prise to  me.  Being  unacquainted  with  English  ways,  I 
presumed  that  it  was  customary  to  live  in  the  frugal  and 
uniform  fashion  prevalent  at  Innistrynich ; namely,  at  break- 
fast: ham  or  bacon;  sometimes  eggs,  with  or  without  butter, 
according  to  circumstances;  toast  — or  scones,  if  bread  were 
wanting  — and  coffee.  At  lunch : dry  biscuits  and  milk. 
At  tea-time,  which  varied  considerably  as  to  time , ranging 
from  five  if  we  were  in  the  house,  to  eight  or  nine  if  my 
husband  was  out  sketching:  ham  and  eggs  again,  or  a little 
mutton  — chop  or  steak,  if  the  meat  were  fresh,  cold  boiled 
shoulder  or  leg  if  it  was  salted;  and  a primitive  sort  of  crisp, 
hard  cake,  which  Thursday  always  served  with  evident  pleas- 
ure and  pride,  being  first  pastry-cook  and  then  partaker  of 
the  luxury.  I often  wondered  how  Englishmen  could  grow 
so  tall  and  so  strong  on  such  food;  for  I was  aware  within 
myself  of  certain  feelings  of  weakness  and  sickness  never 
experienced  before,  but  which  I was  ashamed  to  confess  so 
long  as  men  whose  physical  organizations  required  more  sus- 
tenance remained  free  from  them.  One  day,  however,  the 
reason  of  this  difference  became  clear  to  me.  My  husband 
had  proposed  to  show  me  Kilchurn  Castle,  which  he  was 
going  to  sketch,  and  we  started  early  after  the  first  light 
breakfast,  with  Thursday  to  manage  the  sails.  On  turning 
round  Innistrynich  we  met  a contrary  wind,  and  had  to  beat 
against  it : it  was  slow  work,  and  at  last  I timidly  suggested 
that  it  might  perhaps  be  better  to  turn  back  to  get  something 
to  eat ; but  Gilbert  triumphantly  said  he  was  prepared  for  the 
emergency , and  had  provided  ...  a box  of  figs ! ! ! . . . yes, 


224 


MEMOIR. 


and  he  opened  it  deliberately  and  offered  me  the  first  pick. 
I could  not  refrain  from  looking  at  Thursday,  whose  face 
betrayed  such  a queer  expression  of  mingled  amusement  and 
disappointed  expectation  that  I hurst  out  laughing  heartily, 
at  which  my  husband,  who  had  been  meditatively  eating  fig 
after  fig,  looked  up  wondering  what  was  the  matter.  I then 
asked  if  that  was  all  our  meal,  and  he  gravely  took  out  of 
the  box  two  bottles  of  beer  and  a flask  of  sherry,  the  look  of 
which  seemed  to  revive  Thursday’s  spirits  wonderfully.  As 
for  me,  who  drank  at  that  time  neither  beer  nor  wine,  and 
whose  taste  for  dry  figs  was  very  limited,  I hinted  that  some- 
thing more  — bread,  for  instance  — would  not  have  been 
superfluous.  The  opportunity  for  ridding  himself  of  cares  so 
little  in  harmony  with  his  tastes  and  artistic  pursuits  was 
not  lost  by  my  husband,  and  I was  then  and  there  invested 
with  the  powers  and  functions  of  housekeeper. 

This  was  the  plan  adopted  for  the  discharge  of  my  new 
duties.  In  the  morning  I studiously  wrote,  as  an  exercise, 
the  orders  I wished  to  give,  and,  after  correction,  I learned 
to  repeat  them  by  word  of  mouth  till  I could  be  understood 
by  the  servants.  It  succeeded  tolerably  when  my  husband 
was  accessible,  if'  an  explanation  was  rendered  necessary  on 
account  of  my  foreign  accent;  hut  there  was  no  way  out  of 
the  difficulty  if  he  happened  to  be  absent. 

Ever  since  I knew  him  I had  noticed  his  anxiety  to  lose 
no  time,  and  to  turn  every  minute  to  the  best  account  for  his 
improvement.  Throughout  his  life  he  made  rules  to  hind 
his  dreamy  fancy  to  active  study  and  production;  they  were 
frequently  altered,  according  to  the  state  of  his  health  and 
the  nature  of  his  work  at  the  time ; hut  he  felt  the  necessity 
of  self-imposed  laws  to  govern  and  regulate  his  strong  incli- 
nation towards  reflection  and  reading.  He  used  to  say  that 
when  people  allowed  themselves  unmeasured  time  for  what 
they  called  “ thinking,”  it  was  generally  an  excuse  for  idle 
dreaming;  because  the  brain,  after  a certain  time  given  to 
active  exertion,  felt  exhausted,  and  could  no  longer  be 
prompted  to  work  with  intellectual  profit;  that,  in  conse- 
quence, the  effort  grew  weaker  and  weaker,  till  vague  mus- 


MEMOIR . 


225 


ings  and  indistinct  shadows  gradually  replaced  the  powerful 
grasp  and  clear  vision  of  healthy  mental  labor. 

On  the  other  side , it  must  be  said  that  he  was  too  much  of 
a poet  to  undervalue  the  state  of  apparent  indolence  which 
is  so  favorable  to  inspiration,  and  that  he  often  quoted  in  self- 
defence  the  words  of  Claude  Tillier,  — “ Le  temps  le  mieux 
employ^  est  celui  que  Ton  perd.”  Aware  of  his  strong  pro- 
pensity to  that  particular  mental  state,  he  attempted  all  his 
life  to  restrict  it  within  limits  which  would  leave  sufficient 
time  for  active  pursuits.  His  love  of  sailing  must  have  been 
closely  connected  with  the  inclination  to  a restful,  peaceful, 
dreamy  state,  for  although  fond  of  all  kinds  of  boating,  he 
greatly  preferred  a sailing-boat  to  any  other,  and  never  wished 
to  possess  a steamer,  or  cared  much  to  make  use  of  one. 

Still,  he  took  great  pleasure  in  some  forms  of  physical 
exercise:  he  could  use  an  oar  beautifully;  he  was  a capital 
horseman,  having  been  used  to  ride  from  the  age  of  six,  and 
retained  a firm  seat  to  the  last;  he  readily  undertook  pedes- 
trian excursions  and  the  ascent  of  mountains.  He  often  rode 
from  Innistrynich  to  Inverary  or  Dalmally  (when  our  island 
became  a peninsula  in  dry  weather,  or  in  winter  when  the 
bay  was  frozen  over) ; but  he  found  little  satisfaction  in  riding 
the  mare  we  had  then,  which  was  mainly  used  as  a cart-horse 
to  fetch  provisions,  for  the  necessaries  of  life  were  not  very 
accessible  about  us.  We  had  to  get  bread,  meat,  and  common 
grocery  from  Inverary,  and  the  rest  from  Glasgow,  so  that  we 
soon  discovered  that  the  whole  time  of  a male  servant  would 
be  required  for  errands  of  different  kinds.  Not  unfrequently 
was  the  half  of  a day  lost  in  the  attempt  to  get  a dozen  eggs 
from  the  little  scattered  farms,  or  a skinny  fowl,  or  such  a 
rare  delicacy  as  a cabbage.  Sometimes  Thursday  came  back 
from  the  town  peevish  and  angry  at  his  lost  labor,  having 
found  the  bread  too  hard  or  too  musty,  and  mutton  unprocur- 
able ; as  to  the  beef  which  came  occasionally  from  Glasgow, 
it  was  usually  tainted,  except  in  winter-time,  and  veal  was 
not  to  be  had  for  love  or  money,  except  in  a condition  to 
make  one  fearful  of  a catastrophe. 

There  was  also  the  additional  trouble  of  unloading  the 

15 


226 


MEMOIR. 


goods  on  the  side  of  the  road,  of  putting  them  into  the  boat, 
to  he  rowed  across  the  hay ; then  they  must  he  carried  to  the 
house  either  by  man  or  horse.  Merely  to  get  the  indispensa- 
ble quantity  of  fuel  in  such  a damp  climate,  when  fires  have 
to  he  kept  up  for  eight  or  oftener  nine  months  in  the  year, 
was  a serious  matter,  and  my  husband  complained  that  he  was 
constantly  deprived  of  Thursday’s  services.  He  then  decided 
to  take  as  a gardener,  out-of-door  workman,  and  occasional 
boatman,  a Highlander  of  the  name  of  Dugald,  whom  he  had 
employed  sometimes  in  the  latter  capacity,  for  he  knew  some- 
thing of  boats,  having  been  formerly  a fisherman. 

There  were  some  outbuildings  on  the  island;  one  of  them 
contained  two  rooms,  which  Dugald  and  his  wife  found  suffi- 
cient for  them  (they  had  no  children) , and  this  became  the 
gardener’s  cottage.  Another  was  used  as  a stable,  and  the 
smallest  as  a fowl-house  and  carpenter’s  shop,  for  now  we  had 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  we  could  not  possibly  live  all  the 
year  round  on  the  island  without  a small  farm,  to  provide  us, 
at  least,  with  milk,  cream,  butter,  and  eggs  ; so  we  bought 
two  cows,  and  also  a small  flock  of  sheep,  that  we  might 
always  be  sure  of  mutton  — either  fresh  or  salted.  This 
did  not  afford  a great  variety  of  menus , but  it  was  better  than 
starvation. 

Vegetables,  other  than  potatoes  and  an  occasional  cabbage, 
being  unseen  — and  I believe  unknown  — at  Loch  Awe,  and 
my  husband’s  health  having  suffered  in  consequence  of  the 
privation,  we  had  the  ambition  of  growing  our  own  vegeta- 
bles, and  a great  variety  of  them  too.  Dugald  was  set  to  dig 
and  manure  a large  plot  of  ground,  though  he  kept  mumbling 
that  it  was  utterly  useless,  as  nothing  could  or  would  grow 
where  oats  did  not  ripen  once  in  three  years,  and  that  High- 
landers, who  knew  so  much  better  than  foreigners,  “would 
not  be  fashed  ” to  attempt  it.  However,  as  he  was  paid  to  do 
the  work,  he  had  to  do  it ; and  it  was  simple  enough , for  he 
had  no  pretensions  to  being  a gardener;  the  choice  of  seeds 
and  the  sowing  of  them  were  left  to  Gilbert,  who  had  never 
given  a thought  to  it  before,  and  to  me,  who  knew  absolutely 
nothing  of  the  subject.  In  this  emergency  we  got  books  to 


MEMOIR. 


227 


guide  us,  bought  aud  sowed  an  enormous  quantity  of  seeds, 
and  to  our  immense  gratification  some  actually  sprouted. 
Our  pride  was  great  when  the  doctor  came  to  lunch  with  us 
for  the  first  time,  and  we  could  offer  him  radishes  and  lettuce, 
which  he  duly  wondered  at  .and-  appreciated.  Of  course  we 
had  to  put  up  with  many  failures,  but  still  it  was  worth  while 
to  persevere,  as,  in  addition  to  carrots,  onions,  turnips, — 
which  grew  to  perfection,  — potatoes  and  cabbages,  we  had 
salads  of  different  kinds,  small  pumpkins,  and  fine  cauli- 
flowers. I soon  discovered  that  peat  was  extremely  favor- 
able to  them,  so  we  had  a trench  made  in  peaty  soil,  where 
they  grew  splendidly. 

Although  very  well  satisfied  on  the  whole  with  our  attempt, 
we  thought  it  absorbed  too  much  of  my  husband’s  time,  and 
he  soon  requested  me  to  go  on  with  it  by  myself,  and  frankly 
avowed  that  he  could  not  take  any  interest  in  gardening, 
even  in  ornamental  gardening.  This  lack  of  interest  seemed 
strange  to  me,  because  he  liked  to  study  nature  in  all  her 
phenomena,  but  it  lasted  to  the  end  of  his  life;  he  did  not 
care  in  the  least  for  a well-kept  garden,  but  he  liked  flowers 
for  their  colors  and  perfumes,  — not  individually,  — and 
trees  for  their  forms,  either  noble  or  graceful,  and  especially 
for  their  shade.  He  could  not  bear  to  see  them  pruned,  and 
when  it  became  imperative  to  cut  some  of  their  branches,  he 
used  to  complain  quite  sadly  to  his  daughter  — who  shared 
his  feelings  about  trees  — and  he  would  say:  “Now,  Mary, 
you  see  they  are  at  it  again,  spoiling  our  poor  trees.  ” And 
if  I replied,  “ But  it  is  for  their  health;  the  branches  were 
trailing  on  the  ground,  and  now  the  trees  will  grow  taller,  ” 
he  slowly  shook  his  head,  unconvinced.  When  we  took  the 
small  house  at  Pre-Charmoy,  he  was  delighted  by  the  wild- 
ness of  the  tiny  park  sloping  gently  down  to  the  cool,  narrow, 
shaded  river,  over  which  the  bending  trees  met  and  arched, 
and  he  begged  me  not  to  interfere  with  the  trailing  black- 
berry branches  which  crept  about  the  roots  and  stems  of 
the  superb  wild-rose  trees,  making  sweet  but  impenetrable 
thickets  interwoven  with  honeysuckle,  even  in  the  midst  of 
the  alleys  and  lawns. 


228 


MEMOIR. 


And  now  to  return  to  the  domestic  arrangements  arrived  at 
by  mutual  consent.  Upon  me  devolved  the  housekeeping, 
provisioning,  and  care  of  the  garden,  with  the  help  of  a maid, 
occasionally  that  of  Dugald’s  wife  as  charwoman,  and  pretty 
regularly  that  of  Dugald  himself  for  a certain  portion  of  the 
day;  that  is,  when  he  was  not  required  by  my  husband  to 
man  the  boat  or  to  help-  in  a camping-out  expedition.  It 
was  agreed  that  Thursday  should  be  considered  as  his  master’s 
private  servant. 


MEMOIR. 


229 


CHAPTER  II. 

1858. 

Mouey  matters.  — Difficulties  about  servants.  — Expensiveness  of  our 
mode  of  life. 

My  husband  had  a little  fortune,  sufficient  for  his  wants  as  a 
bachelor,  which  were  modest;  it  would  have  been  larger  had 
his  father  nursed  it  instead  of  diminishing  it  as  he  did  by 
his  reckless  ways,  and  especially  by  entrusting  its  manage- 
ment during  his  son’s  minority  to  a very  kind  but  incapable 
guardian  in  business  matters,  and  to  another  competent  but 
dishonest  trustee,  who  squandered,  unchecked,  many  impor- 
tant sums  of  money,  and  made  agreements  and  leases  profitable 
to  himself,  but  almost  ruinous  to  his  ward.  As  to  the  other 
trustee,  he  never  troubled  himself  so  far  as  to  read  a deed  or  a 
document  before  signing  it.  Still,  what  remained  when  my 
husband  came  of  age  was  amply  sufficient  for  the  kind  of  life 
he  soon  chose,  that  of  an  artist;  and  he  hoped,  moreover,  to 
increase  it  by  the  sale  of  his  works. 

He  was,  however,  aware  of  the  future  risks  of  the  situation 
when  he  asked  in  marriage  a girl  without  fortune,  and  ho 
told  me  without  reserve  what  we  had  to  expect. 

An  important  portion  of  his  income  was  to  cease  after  four- 
teen years  — the  end  of  the  lease  of  a coal-mine ; but  he  felt 
certain  that  he  would  be  able  by  that  time  to  replace  it  by 
his  own  earnings,  and  meanwhile  we  were  to  live  so  economi- 
cally and  so  simply  that,  as  we  thought,  there  was  no  need 
for  anxiety ; so  we  convinced  my  parents  — with  the  per- 
suasion that  love  lent  us  — that  after  all  we  should  not  be 
badly  off. 

Soon  after  the  completion  of  our  household  organization, 
however,  I began  to  fear  that  a very  simple  way  of  living 
might,  under  peculiar  conditions,  become  expensive.  A 


230 


MEMOIR. 


breakfast  consisting  of  ham  and  eggs  is  not  extravagantly 
luxurious,  but  if  the  ham  comes  to  thrice  the  original  price 
when  carriage  and  spoilage  are  allowed  for,  and  if  to  the  six- 
pence paid  for  half-a-dozen  eggs  you  add  the  wages  of  a man 
for  as  many  hours,  you  find  to  your  dismay  that  though  your 
repast  was  simple,  it  was  not  particularly  cheap.  Whichever 
way  we  turned  we  met  with  unavoidable  and  unlooked-for 
expenses.  Perhaps  an  English  lady,  accustomed  to  the  possi- 
bilities of  such  a place,  and  to  the  habits  of  the  servants  and 
the  customs  of  the  country,  might  have  managed  better  — 
though  even  to-day  I don’t  see  clearly  what  she  could  have 
done;  as  for  me,  though  I had  been  brought  up  in  the  belief 
that  Paris  was  one  of  the  most  expensive  places  to  live  in, 
and  though  I was  perfectly  aware  of  its  prices,  — having  kept 
my  father’s  house  for  some  years,  on  account  of  my  mother’s 
weak  state  of  health,  — I was  entirely  taken  by  surprise,  and 
rather  afraid  of  the  reckoning  at  the  end  of  the  year.  No 
one  who  has  not  attempted  that  kind  of  primitive  existence 
has  any  idea  of  its  complications.  A mere  change  of  servant 
was  expensive  — and  such  changes  were  rather  frequent,  on 
account  of  their  disgust  at  the  breach  of  orthodox  habits,  and 
the  lack  of  followers;  or  their  dismissal  was  rendered  inevi- 
table by  their  incapacity  or  unwillingness,  or  their  contempt 
for  everything  out  of  their  own  country.  We  had  a capital 
instance  of  this  characteristic  in  a nurse  who  came  from 
Greenock,  and  who  thoroughly  despised  everything  in  the 
Highlands.  One  night,  my  husband  and  myself  were  out  of 
doors  admiring  a splendid  full  moon,  by  the  light  of  which 
it  was  quite  easy  to  read.  The  nurse  Katharine  was  standing 
by  us,  holding  baby  in  her  arms,  and  she  heard  me  express 
my  admiration : unable  to  put  up  with  praises  of  a Highland 
moon,  she  exclaimed  deliberately,  “ Sure,  ma’am,  then,  you 
should  see  the  Greenock  moon;  this  is  nothing  to  it.” 

This  change  of  servants  was  of  serious  moment  to  us,  both 
in  the  way  of  time  and  money,  for  we  had  to  go  to  Glasgow 
or  Greenock  to  fetch  new  ones,  besides  paying  for  their  jour- 
neys to  and  fro,  and  a month’s  wages  if  they  did  not  give 
satisfaction,  which  was  but  too  often  the  case. 


MEMOIR. 


231 


Once  it  happened  that  a steamer,  bringing  over  a small 
cargo  of  much-needed  provisions,  foundered,  and  we  were  in 
consequence  nearly  reduced  to  a state  of  starvation. 

Also,  after  paying  princely  prices  for  laying  hens,  we  only 
found  empty  shells  in  the  hen-coop,  the  rats  having  sucked  the 
eggs  before  us.  Gilbert,  to  save  our  eggs,  bought  a vivacious 
little  terrier,  who  killed  more  fowls  than  rats ; and  as  to  the 
few  little  chickens  that  were  hatched  — despite  the  cold  and 
damp  — they  gradually  disappeared,  devoured  by  the  birds  of 
prey,  falcons  and  eagles,  which  carried  them  off  under  my 
eyes,  even  whilst  I was  feeding  them. 

Another  very  important  item  of  expense  lay  in  the  different 
materials  required  for  my  husband’s  work  of  various  kinds, 
and  of  which  he  ordered  such  quantities  that  their  remnants 
are  still  to  be  found  in  his  laboratory  as  I write.  Papers  of 
all  sorts  of  quality  and  size  — for  pen-and-ink,  crayons,  pastel, 
water-color,  etching,  tracing;  colors  dry  and  moist,  brushes, 
canvases,  frames,  boards,  panels;  also  the  requisites  for 
photography.  It  was  one  of  my  husband’s  lasting  peculiari- 
ties that,  in  his  desire  to  do  a great  quantity  of  work,  and  in 
the  fear  of  running  short  of  something,  he  always  gave  orders 
far  exceeding  what  he  could  possibly  use.  He  also  invaria- 
bly allowed  himself,  for  the  completion  of  any  given  work, 
an  insufficiency  of  time,  because  he  did  not,  beforehand,  take 
into  account  the  numerous  corrections  that  he  was  sure  to 
make;  for  he  was  constantly  trying  to  do  better. 

Our  journeys  also  contributed  to  swell  considerably  the 
total  of  our  expenditure.  Before  we  were  married  he  prom- 
ised my  parents  that  he  would  bring  me  over  once  a year,  for 
about  a month ; for  it  was  a great  sacrifice  on  their  part  to  let 
their  eldest  child  go  so  far  away,  and,  even  as  it  was,  to  remain 
separated  for  so  long  at  a time.  My  husband’s  relations  had 
also  to  be  considered,  and  he  decided  that  every  time  we  went 
to  France  we  would  stay  a week  at  least  with  his  maiden  aunts, 
who  had  brought  him  up,  and  a few  days  with  the  family  of 
his  kind  uncle,  Thomas  Hamerton  of  Todmorden;  then  a short 
time  in  London  to  see  the  Exhibitions  and  his  friends.  The 
same  itinerary  was  to  be  followed  on  our  return. 


232 


MEMOIR. 


My  parents  living  then  in  Paris,  where  even  at  that  time 
rents  were  high  and  space  restricted,  my  husband’s  dislike  to 
confinement  did  not  allow  him  to  remain  satisfied  with  the 
single  room  they  could  put  at  our  disposal;  moreover,  in 
order  to  work  effectively,  peace  and  perfect  quiet  were  abso- 
lutely indispensable  to  him;  so  he  took  lodgings  close  to  my 
parents’,  and  whilst  I spent  as  much  of  my  time  with  them 
as  I could  spare,  he  wrote  or  read  in  the  noiseless  rooms  we 
had  taken  entre  cour  et  jardin.  Of  course  the  rent  of  the 
lodgings  was  an  additional  expense.  Altogether,  when  we 
summed  up  the  accounts  after  the  first  year,  we  were  dismayed 
to  see  what  was  the  cost  of  such  an  unpretentious  existence; 
but  with  youthful  hope  we  counted  upon  the  income  that  art 
could  not  fail  to  bring  shortly. 


MEMOIR. 


233 


CHAPTER  III. 

1858. 


Painting  from  nature.  — Project  of  an  exhibition.  — Photography.  — Plan 
of  the  “Painter’s  Camp.”  — Topographic  Art.  — Charm  of  our  life 
in  the  Highlands. 

Mr.  Hamerton  has  himself  explained  in  his  autobiography 
what  were  his  artistic  tendencies  and  aims : he  meant  to  be 
topographically  true  in  his  rendering  of  nature,  and  was 
unluckily  greatly  influenced  by  the  Pre-Raphaelites,  who 
were,  at  the  time  of  our  marriage,  attracting  great  attention. 
I was  totally  unprepared  for  that  kind  of  art,  and  the  most 
famous  specimens  of  it  which  my  husband  took  me  to  see  in 
London  only  awoke  an  apprehension  as  to  what  I might  think 
of  his  own  pictures  when  they  were  shown  to  me.  The  old 
masters  in  the  Louvre,  even  the  yearly  Salons,  where,  under 
my  father’s  guidance,  I had  learned  to  admire  Troy  on,  Corot, 
and  Millet,  had  given  me  an  education  which  fell  short  of 
enabling  me  to  recognize  the  merits  of  the  new  school.  It 
was  in  vain  that  my  husband  pointed  out  the  veracity  of  the 
minutest  detail,  in  vain  that  he  attempted  to  interest  me  in 
the  subjects  or  praised  the  scheme  of  color;  I did  not  under- 
stand it  as  art,  and  I received  an  impression,  perfectly  remem- 
bered to  this  day,  and  which  I hardly  hope  to  convey  to 
others  in  words:  it  was  for  my  eyes  what  unripe  fruit  is  for 
the  teeth. 

It  was  a long  time  before  my  husband  completed  a picture 
at  Innistrynich,  because  he  had  resolved,  at  first,  to  paint 
only  from  nature,  and  was  constantly  interrupted  by  changes 
of  effect.  After  many  attempts,  he  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  he  would  only  paint  local  color  out-of-doors,  and  in 
order  to  study  effects  rapidly,  he  made  hasty  sketches  with 
copious  notes  written  in  pencil.  Still,  he  was  not  satisfied, 
the  sketch,  however  quickly  traced,  retarding  the  taking  of 


234 


MEMOIR. 


notes,  so  that  the  effect  had  vanished  before  they  were  com- 
pleted. After  giving  mature  consideration  to  another  scheme 
of  study,  he  decided  to  make  careful  pen-and-ink  topographi- 
cal drawings  of  the  most  striking  features  of  the  scenery,  such 
as  Ben  Cruachan,  Glen  Etive,  Ben  Vorlich,  Glencoe,  etc., 
and  to  have  them  reproduced  in  large  quantities,  so  that, 
when  upon  the  scene  represented  by  any  of  them,  he  would 
only  have  to  note  the  most  impressive  effects,  the  sketch  hav- 
ing become  unnecessary.  I wished  him  to  take  these  memo- 
randa in  water-colors  or  pastels,  for  it  seemed  to  me  very 
difficult,  when  the  effect  was  out  of  the  memory,  to  revive  it 
in  its  entirety  by  hundreds  of  minute  observations  covering 
the  whole  sheet  of  paper.  I had  another  reason  for  wishing 
to  see  him  work  more  in  colors  — it  was  his  want  of  dexterity 
with  them,  which  I thought  practice  only  could  give ; but  he 
said  it  was  too  slow  for  out-of-door  study,  and  should  be 
reserved  for  winter-time  and  bad  weather.  Another  point 
upon  which  we  could  not  agree  was  the  amount  of  truth  to 
which  an  artist  ought  to  bind  himself ; he  said  “ nothing  less 
than  topographic  truth,”  and  he  took  infinite  pains  in  the 
measurement  of  mountain  peaks,  breadth  of  heather-patches, 
and  length  of  running  streams.  To  his  grievous  disappoint- 
ment, when  the  conscientious  and  labored  study  was  shown  to 
me,  I could  not  but  repeat  that  if  it  were  true  it  did  not 
look  so  to  me,  since  it  produced  none  of  the  sensations  of  the 
natural  scene.  “ You  would  like  me  to  exaggerate,  then  1 ” 
he  asked.  “Yes,”  I answered,  “if  that  is  the  way  to  make 
it  look  true.”  But  he  persevered  in  his  system.  He  used 
to  camp  out  a week,  sometimes  a fortnight,  wherever  he  made 
choice  of  a subject,  and  returned  to  the  same  spot  several 
times  afterwards,  with  his  printed  studies  of  outlines  to  take 
notes  of  effects. 

He  was  fond  of  elaborating  schemes,  and  I told  him  some- 
times that  I wished  he  would  allow  things  to  go  on  more 
simply,  that  he  would  paint  his  pictures  straightforwardly, 
and  try  for  their  reception  in  the  Academy ; but  he  answered 
that  most  certainly  they  would  be  rejected  if  painted  with  so 
little  care,  and  that  he  thought  the  best  plan  was  to  go  on 


MEMOIR. 


235 


patiently  during  the  summer  as  he  had  begun,  then  to  paint 
in  winter  from  his  studies,  and  produce,  not  an  odd  picture 
now  and  then,  but  a series  of  pictures  illustrating  the  most 
remarkable  characteristics  of  Highland  scenery,  which  he 
would  put  before  the  public  in  a private  exhibition  of  his 
own,  under  the  title  of  “Pictures  from  the  Highlands,  by 
P.  G.  Hamerton.”  And  before  one  of  the  pictures  was 
begun,  he  had  made  the  model  of  a die  hearing  this  inscrip- 
tion, to  he  stamped  on  the  frames  of  the  pictures,  as  well  as 
on  the  studies.  Mr.  Hamerton  had  taken  lessons  from  a 
photographer  in  Paris,  at  the  time  of  his  first  visit  there, 
thinking  it  might  he  a help  in  the  prosecution  of  his  scheme, 
and  now  he  was  always  trying  to  get  some  photographs  of  the 
scenes  among  which  he  camped.  They  were  generally  very 
poor  and  feeble,  the  weather  being  so  often  unpropitious,  and 
the  process  (paper  process)  so  imperfect  and  tedious.  Still, 
it  was  the  means  of  giving  pleasure  to  our  relations  and 
friends  by  acquainting  them  with  our  surroundings.  Here  is 
a passage  from  one  of  my  father’s  letters  in  acknowledgment 
of  the  photograph  of  our  house:  “ J’ai  re$u  avec  infiniment 
de  plaisir  votre  lettre  et  la  photographie  qui  l’accompagnait. 
Cette  petite  image  nous  met  en  communication  plus  directe, 
en  nous  identifiant  pour  ainsi  dire,  h votre  vie  interieure. 
Merci  done,  et  de  hon  coeur.” 

Although  my  husband  firmly  believed  that  nature  had 
meant  him  to  be  an  artist,  and  helped  nature  as  much  as  he 
could  by  his  own  exertions,  the  literary  talent  which  was  in 
him  would  not  be  stifled  altogether,  and  under  pretext  of  pre- 
paring a way  for  his  artistic  reputation,  made  him  undertake 
the  “ Painter’s  Camp.” 

It  may  be  easily  realized  that  with  his  elaborate  system  of 
study,  which  required  journeys  and  camping  out,  the  taking  of 
photographs,  painting  indoors  in  wet  weather,  together  with  a 
course  of  reading  for  culture  and  pleasure,  and  in  addition 
literary  composition,  Gilbert’s  time  was  fully  occupied;  still 
he  was  dissatisfied  by  the  meagre  result,  and  fretted  about  it. 
He  had,  at  the  cost  of  much  thought  and  money,  organized  a 
perfect  establishment,  with  wagons,  tents,  and  boats,  to  go  and 


236 


MEMOIR. 


stay  wherever  he  pleased ; but  wherever  he  went  or  stopped  he 
almost  invariably  met  with  rain  and  mist,  and  though  he  could 
draw  or  paint  inside  the  tent,  he  still  required  to  see  his  sub- 
ject, and  how  could  he  possibly  when  the  heavy  rain-clouds 
enveloped  the  mountains  as  if  in  a shroud,  or  when  the  mist 
threw  a veil  over  all  the  landscape  ? I remember  going  with 
him  to  camp  out  in  Glencoe  in  delightful  weather,  which  lasted 
(for  a wonder)  throughout  the  journey  and  the  day  following 
it,  after  which  we  were  shut  inside  the  tents  by  pouring  or 
drizzling  rain  for  six  consecutive  days,  when  the  only  possible 
occupation  was  reading,  so  that  at  last  we  were  beaten  back 
home  with  a few  bad  photographs  and  incomplete  sketches  as 
the  fruits  of  a week’s  expedition. 

At  first  we  did  not  attach  much  importance  to  the  weather, 
even  if  it  wasted  time.  My  husband  had  taken  the  island  on 
a lease  of  four  years,  and  it  seemed  to  us  that  almost  anything 
might  be  achieved  in  the  course  of  four  years;  we  were  so 
young,  both  of  us  — he  twenty -four,  and  I nineteen  — that  we 
had  not  yet  realized  how  rapidly  time  flows  — and  it  flowed  so 
delightfully  with  us  as  to  make  everything  promising  in  our 
eyes.  The  rain  might  be  troublesome  and  interfere  with  work, 
but  were  not  the  splendid  colors  of  the  landscepe  due  to  it? 
The  lake  might  be  stormy,  and  the  white  foam  of  its  waves 
dash  even  upon  the  panes  of  our  windows,  but  the  clouds, 
driven  wildly  over  the  crests  of  the  hills,  and  rent  by  peaks  and 
crags,  cast  ever-hanging  shadows  along  their  swift  course,  and 
the  shafts  of  the  sun  darting  between  them  clothed  the  spaces 
between  in  dazzling  splendor.  Our  enjoyment  of  natural 
beauty  was  not  marred  by  considerations  about  the  elements 
which  produced  it:  whether  the  rich  color  of  the  shrivelled 
ferns  on  the  hillside  had  been  given  by  the  fierce'  heat  of  a sun 
which,  at  the  same  time,  had  dried  up  the  streams  and  parched 
the  meadows,  we  did  not  inquire ; and  if  the  grandeur  of  the 
stormy  lake  on  a dark  night,  with  the  moaning  of  the  breakers 
on  the  rocky  shore,  and  the  piercing  shrieks  of  the  blast,  in- 
volved the  fall  and  ruin  of  many  a poor  man’s  cottage  and  the 
destruction  of  hundreds  of  uprooted  trees,  we  were  so  entranced 
in  admiration  as  to  give  no  thought  to  the  consequences.  We 


MEMOIR. 


237 


derived  pleasure  from  everything,  study  or  contemplation,  fair 
weather  or  foul ; a twilight  ramble  on  the  island  by  the  mag- 
nificent northern  lights,  or  a quiet  sail  on  the  solitary  lake 
perfumed  with  the  fragrance  of  the  honeysuckle  or  of  the  blue 
hyacinths  growing  so  profusely  on  Inishail  and  the  Black 
Isles. 

Well,  we  were  happy;  we  did  not  stop  to  consider  if  we 
wer q perfectly  happy;  but  it  was,  without  a doubt,  the  hap- 
piest time  of  our  lives,  for  we  have  always  turned  back  to  it 
with  deep  regret,  and,  as  my  husband  has  expressed  it  in  the 
“ Painter’s  Camp  ” — “ It  is  so  full  of  associations  and  memo- 
ries which  are  so  infinitely  dear  and  sweet  and  sacred,  that 
the  very  word  ‘ Highlands  ’ will  lay  a sudden  charm  on  my 
heart  forever.” 

Although  we  made  no  dissection  of  our  happiness  to  know 
what  it  was  made  of,  there  was  a powerful  element  in  it  which 
I discern  clearly  now : we  were  satisfied  with  ourselves,  think- 
ing we  were  fulfilling  our  duty  to  the  best  of  our  understanding; 
if  we  erred,  it  was  unconsciously.  Since  then  we  have  not 
been  so  positive,  and  sometimes  have  questioned  the  wisdom  of 
those  days.  But  who  can  tell  1 ...  If  my  husband  had  not 
lived  those  four  years  of  Highland  life  he  would  not  have  been 
the  man  he  became,  and  his  literary  gift,  though  perhaps  devel- 
oped in  some  other  way,  would  never  have  acquired  the  charm 
which  influenced  afterwards  so  many  minds  and  hearts. 


238 


MEMOIR. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

1858. 

English  and  French  manners. — My  husband’s  relatives. — First  journey 
to  France  after  our  marriage.  — Friends  in  London.  — Miss  Susan 
Hamerton. 

The  summer  of  1858  had  been  unusually  warm  and  pleasant 
in  the  Highlands,  and  my  husband  had  put  many  a study  in 
his  portfolios,  in  spite  of  the  interruptions  to  his  work  caused 
by  a series  of  boils,  which,  though  of  no  importance,  were  ex- 
ceedingly painful  and  irritating,  being  accompanied  by  fever  and 
sleeplessness : they  were  the  result  of  a regimen  of  salted  meat 
and  an  insufficiency  of  fresh  vegetables ; for  of  course  those  we 
succeeded  in  growing  the  first  year  were  only  fit  for  the  table 
towards  the  end  of  summer. 

We  had  not  been  so  solitary  as  I had  expected,  for  with  the 
warm  weather  a few  families  had  come  back  to  their  residences 
on  the  shores  of  the  lake,  and  had  called  upon  us.  I had  felt 
rather  timid  and  awkward,  as  I could  not  speak  English;  hut 
the  ladies  being  kindly  disposed,  and  generally  knowing  a little 
Erench,  we  managed  to  get  on  friendly  terms,  particularly  when 
left  to  ourselves,  for  I was  very  much  afraid  of  Gilbert’s 
strictures  — I will  explain  for  what  reasons  in  particular.  He 
was,  as  I have  said  before,  a very  good  and  competent  teacher, 
hut  very  exacting,  and  he  had  repeatedly  said  that  he  could  put 
up  better  with  my  faults  were  they  the  usual  recognized  mis- 
takes of  a foreigner,  but  that  unluckily  mine  were  vulgarisms. 
This  was  very  humiliating,  as  I must  confess  I took  a little 
pride  in  my  Erench,  which  had  been  often  praised  as  elegant 
and  pure,  and  this  had  fostered  in  me  a taste  for  conversation 
such  as  was  still  to  be  enjoyed  in  intelligent  Erench  society  at 
that  time,  and  of  which  I had  never  been  deprived  at  home, 
my  father  being  an  excellent  conversationalist,  and  receiving 
political  friends  of  great  talent  as  orators  and  debaters,  such  as 


MEMOIR. 


239 


Michel  de  Bourges,  Baudin,  Madier-de-Montjau,  Boysset,  and 
many  others,  as  well  as  literary  people. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  must  be  explained  that  I was  unknown 
to  my  husband’s  relations,  and  aware  of  some  prejudices  against 
me  among  them,  particularly  on  the  part  of  his  Aunt  Susan,  — 
the  younger  of  the  two  sisters  who  had  brought  him  up.  She 
only  knew  that  I was  French,  a Boman  Catholic,  and  without 
fortune ; all  these  defects  were  the  very  opposite  of  what  she 
had  dreamt  of  for  her  nephew,  and  her  disappointment  had 
been  so  hitter  when  she  had  heard  of  his  engagement  that, 
to  excuse  it  in  her  own  eyes,  she  had  convinced  herself  that 
a French  girl  could  only  be  flippant,  extravagantly  fond  of 
amusement,  and  neglectful  of  homely  duties;  a Boman  Catho- 
lic must  of  necessity  he  narrow-minded  and  bigoted,  and  the 
want  of  fortune  betrayed  low  birth  and  lack  of  education. 
These  views  had  been  expressed  at  length  to  my  betrothed, 
together  with  severe  reproaches  and  admonitions,  and  it  was 
in  vain  that  he  had  attempted  to  justify  his  choice;  his  aunt 
persisted  in  attributing  it  solely  to  a passion  he  had  been  too 
weak  to  master.  At  last  our  marriage  drawing  near,  Gilbert 
wrote  to  his  aunt  that  if  her  next  letter  contained  anything 
disrespectful  to  me  he  would  return  it,  and  do  the  same  for 
the  following  ones,  without  opening  them;  and  the  correspon- 
dence had  ceased. 

It  was  quite  different  with  his  aunt  Mary,  who  must  also 
have  been  disappointed  by  his  marriage,  for  with  her  aristo- 
cratic tastes  and  notions  she  had  desired  for  her  nephew  a 
bride  of  rank,  and  an  heiress  to  put  him  again  in  the  station 
befitting  the  family  name,  to  which  his  education  and  talents 
seemed  to  entitle  him.  But  she  had  confidence  in  his  judg- 
ment, and  loved  him  with  so  generous  a love  that  she  congratu- 
lated him  warmly  when  he  was  accepted,  and  wrote  me  an 
affectionate  letter  of  thanks,  and  a welcome  as  a new  member 
of  the  family. 

Of  course  my  husband  had  often  talked  to  me  about  his 
aunts ; not  much  was  said  of  Miss  Susan,  but  a great  deal  of 
his  dear  guardian,  who  had  been  like  a mother  to  him,  and 
who  now  wrote  encouragingly  to  me  from  time  to  time  about 


240 


MEMOIR. 


my  English,  and  my  new  life.  He  praised  both  his  aunts  for 
their  good  management  of  a small  income,  for  the  position  they 
had  been  able  to  retain  in  society,  and  particularly  for  their 
lady-like  manners  and  good  breeding;  explaining  sometimes 
that  I should  probably  find  it  different  in  some  respects  from 
Erench  comme-il-faut , and  mentioning  in  what  particulars.  I 
felt  that  he  would  be  very  sensitive  about  the  opinions  his 
aunts  would  form  of  me,  and  I dreaded  that  of  Miss  Susan 
Hamerton.  He  had  put  me  on  my  guard  on  some  points;  for 
instance,  about  the  French  custom  of  always  addressing  people 
as  Monsieur  or  Madame,  which  was  hard  for  me  to  relinquish, 
as  it  seemed  rude ; and  I was  also  told  not  to  be  always  thank- 
ing servants  for  their  services  (as  we  do  in  France),  if  I wished 
to  be  considered  well-bred.  But  besides  what  was  pointed  out 
to  me,  I noticed  many  other  things  which  ought  to  be  toned 
down  in  my  nature  and  habits,  if  I meant  to  acquire  what  I 
heard  called  lady-like  manners.  I was  at  that  time  very  viva- 
cious, merry,  and  impulsive,  and  so  long  as  I had  lived  in 
France  this  natural  disposition  had  been  looked  upon  as  a 
happy  one,  and  rather  pleasant  than  otherwise ; but  I did  not 
notice  anything  resembling  it  in  our  visitors,  who  were  said  to 
he  real  ladies,  or  lady-like.  They  looked  to  my  French  eyes 
somewhat  indifferent  and  unconcerned:  it  is  true  that  they 
were  all  my  seniors  by  at  least  half-a-score  of  years,  but  the 
fact  did  not  put  me  more  at  ease.  However,  as  they  showed 
great  kindness,  and  frequently  renewed  their  visits  and  invita- 
tions, I was  led  to  think  that  their  judgment  had  not  gone 
against  me,  and  this  gave  me  some  courage  for  the  day  of  my 
meeting  with  my  Aunt  Susan.  And  that  day  was  drawing  near, 
my  husband  having  promised  his  relations  that  we  should  visit 
them  after  six  months,  which  was  the  delay  granted  to  me 
to  learn  a little  English ; and  although  I could  not  and  dared 
not  speak  it  at  the  end  of  the  allotted  time,  no  respite  was 
allowed. 

It  was  arranged  that  after  our  stay  in  Lancashire  we  should 
go  on  to  Paris.  This  news  was  received  with  great  joy  and 
thankfulness  in  my  family,  where  we  had  not  been  expected  so 
soon,  and  where  the  sorrow  for  my  absence  was  still  so  keen 


MEMOIR. 


241 


that  my  father  wrote  to  my  husband:  “ Chaque  fois  que  je 
rentre  je  m ’attends  a la  voir  accourir  au  devant  de  moi  et 
chaque  disillusion  est  suivie  de  tristesse.  II  n’est  pas  jusqu’au 
piano  dont  le  mutisme  me  fait  mal.  J’ai  beau  me  dire  que  ces 
impatiences,  ces  chagrins  sont  de  la  faiblesse : je  le  sais,  je  le 
sens,  et  je  n’en  suis  pas  plus  fort.” 

The  love  of  improvements,  which  was  one  of  Gilbert’s 
characteristics,  had  led  him  to  plan  a road  on  the  island, 
which  should  go  from  the  house  to  the  lowest  part  of  the 
shore,  where  the  lake  dried  up  in  summer,  so  as  to  facilitate 
the  conveyance  of  goods,  which  could  then  be  carted  without 
unloading  from  Inverary  to  the  barn  or  kitchen-door.  He 
gave  very  minute  directions  to  Thursday  and  Dugald,  and  set 
them  to  their  work  just  before  we  left  for  France,  telling  them 
that  he  expected  to  find  the  road  finished  on  our  return. 

We  started  in  November,  and  arrived  at  Todmorden  on  a 
wet  day;  and  just  before  leaving  the  railway  carriage  we  were 
much  amused  by  a gentleman  who  answered  the  query  “ Is 
this  Tormorden  1 ” by  letting  down  the  window  and  thrusting 
his  hand  out,  after  which  he  gravely  said : “ It  is  raining ; it 
must  be  Todmorden.” 

My  husband’s  uncle,  Thomas  Hamerton,  with  his  two 
daughters,  was  awaiting  us  at  the  station  to  welcome  us  and 
take  us  to  his  house,  where  we  found  Mrs.  Hamerton,  who 
received  us  very  kindly,  but  called  me  Mrs.  Philip  Gilbert, 
because  she  despaired  of  ever  pronouncing  my  Christian  name 
rightly.  I begged  her  to  call  me  “ niece,  ” and  her  husband 
gave  the  example  by  calling  me  “ my  niece  Eugenei.”  Our 
cousins  Anne  and  Jane  spoke  French  very  creditably,  although 
they  had  never  been  in  France,  and  we  were  soon  on  friendly 
terms.  When  ray  husband  was  away,  they  translated  my  an- 
swers to  their  mother’s  numerous  questions  about  our  life  in 
the  Highlands,  my  occupations,  tastes,  French  habits,  and  what 
not.  Although  my  powers  of  expression  in  English  were  very 
limited,  I understood  the  greater  part  of  what  was  said,  and 
Mrs.  Hamerton  and  my  cousins  being  so  encouraging,  I did  not 
feel  so  timid,  and  if  I had  stayed  longer  I should  most  cer- 
tainly have  made  rapid  progress.  On  that  score  my  husband — 

16 


242 


MEMOIR. 


P.  G.,  as  they  called  him  in  the  family  circle  — was  taken  to 
task  and  scolded  for  having  been  too  severe  with  “ his  poor 
little  foreign  wife.”  His  cousins,  with  whom  he  was  on 
brotherly  terms,  were  much  pleased  with  the  soft  Prench 
pronunciation  of  the  name  Gilbert,  and  dropped  the  P.  G. 
decisively,  to  the  great  wonder  of  their  mamma. 

The  following  day  was  fixed  by  my  husband  as  the  day  of 
our  trial,  — that  is,  for  our  visit  to  his  aunts,  who  lived  on  a 
steep  eminence  above  Todmorden,  in  a pleasant  house,  “ The 
Jumps.”  Aunt  Mary,  in  order  to  spare  me,  had  offered  to 
come  down  to  meet  us  at  her  brother’s;  but  as  she  suffered 
from  some  kind  of  heart  complaint  (the  knowledge  of  which 
kept  her  loving  nephew  in  constant  alarm)  we  were  afraid  of 
the  effect  that  fatigue  and  emotion  might  have,  and  preferred 
to  encounter  Miss  Susan  Hamerton. 

The  reception  was  typical  of  the  different  dispositions 
towards  us.  Aunt  Mary  was  standing  at  the  door,  straining 
her  eyes  to  see  us  sooner,  and  came  forward  to  embrace  me 
and  to  receive  the  kisses  of  her  beloved  nephew;  then  she 
whispered  that  “ she  had  hoped  Susan  would  have  gone  away 
on  a visit  to  her  friends ; but  she  had  remained  obdurate  to  all 
hints  and  entreaties.  ” So  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  meet 
her,  since  she  would  have  it  so ; and  with  a beating  heart  I 
was  led  to  the  drawing-room  by  my  husband.  That  the  reader 
may  not  be  misled  into  believing  that  a life-long  estrangement 
resulted  from  the  following  scene,  I will  quote  a passage  from 
the  preface  to  “ Human  Intercourse,  ” which  gives  the  unfore- 
seen result  of  my  acquaintance  with  Miss  Susan  Hamerton. 

“ A certain  English  lady,  influenced  by  the  received  ideas  about 
human  intercourse  which  define  the  conditions  of  it  in  a hard  and 
sharp  manner,  was  strongly  convinced  that  it  would  be  impossible 
for  her  to  have  friendly  relations  with  another  lady  whom  she  had 
never  seen,  but  was  likely  to  see  frequently.  All  her  reasons 
would  be  considered  excellent  reasons  by  those  who  believe  in 
maxims  and  rules.  It  was  plain  that  there  could  be  nothing  in 
common.  The  other  lady  was  neither  of  the  same  country,  nor  of 
the  same  religious  and  political  parties,  nor  of  the  same  generation. 
These  facts  were  known,  and  the  inference  deduced  from  them 


MEMOIR. 


243 


was  that  intercourse  would  be  impossible.  After  some  time  the 
English  lady  began  to  perceive  that  the  case  did  not  bear  out  the 
supposed  rules ; she  discovered  that  the  younger  lady  might  be  an 
acceptable  friend. 

“ At  last  the  full,  strange  truth  became  apparent  — that  she  was 
singularly  well  adapted,  better  adapted  than  any  other  human 
being,  to  take  a filial  relation  to  the  elder,  especially  in  times  of 
sickness,  when  her  presence  was  a wonderful  support.  Then  the 
warmest  affection  sprang  up  between  the  two,  lasting  till  separa- 
tion by  death,  and  still  cherished  by  the  survivor.” 

But  the  first  meeting  held  out  no  such  promise.  There,  on 
the  couch,  was  an  elderly  lady , sitting  stiff  and  straight,  with  a 
book  in  her  hands,  from  which  her  eyes  were  never  raised, 
even  when  she  acknowledged  our  entrance  by  a studiously 
slow,  chilling,  and  almost  imperceptible  bend  of  the  head.  I 
saw  my  husband’s  face  flush  with  anger  as  we  bowed  to  my 
new  relation ; but  I pressed  his  hand  entreatingly,  and  we  sat 
down,  attempting  to  ignore  the  hostile  presence,  and  to  talk  as 
if  we  found  ourselves  in  ordinary  circumstances.  Poor  Aunt 
Mary,  thinking  it  must  be  unendurable  to  me,  soon  proposed 
that  we  should  go  to  the  dining-room  for  refreshments,  and  her 
proposition  was  accepted  with  alacrity.  We  left  the  dining- 
room with  the  same  ceremonial  which  had  followed  our  en- 
trance, and  were  rewarded  by  the  same  frigid  and  distant 
movement  of  the  silent  figure  on  the  sofa.  We  remained  some 
time  with  Aunt  Mary,  and  took  an  affectionate  leave  of  her, 
my  husband  giving  a promise  that  on  our  return  journey  we 
would  stay  a few  days  at  “The  Jumps,”  whether  her  sister 
chose  to  be  at  home  or  away. 

I have  related  this  episode  at  some  length,  although  it  seems 
to  concern  me  more  than  my  husband,  because  the  influence  it 
had  on  his  life  was  so  important.  It  is  almost  certain  that  if 
Miss  Susan  Hamerton  had  behaved  towards  us  like  her  sister, 
my  husband  would  never  have  thought  of  going  to  live  in 
France.  At  the  end  of  our  lease  at  Innistrynich,  he  would 
have  chosen  a residence  in  some  picturesque  part  of  England, 
and  would  have  easily  induced  his  aunts  to  settle  as  near  as 
possible  to  us.  Their  example  and  advice  in  household  matters 


244 


MEMOIR. 


would  have  been  invaluable  to  me,  whilst  the  affectionate  inter- 
course would  have  grown  closer  and  dearer  as  we  came  to  know 
each  other  better.  However,  this  was  not  to  be. 

We  soon  left  Todmorden  after  our  visit  to  “The  Jumps,” 
and  when  we  reached  Paris  there  were  great  rejoicings  in  my 
family,  where  my  husband  was  fully  appreciated.  He  liked 
to  talk  of  politics,  literature,  and  art  with  my  father,  whose 
experience  was  extensive,  and  whose  taste  was  refined  and 
discriminating ; he  awoke  in  his  son-in-law  an  interest  in 
sculpture  which  hitherto  had  not  been  developed,  but  which 
grew  with  years.  As  to  my  mother,  brothers,  and  sister,  they 
loved  him  for  his  kindness,  and  also  because  he  had  made  a 
life  of  happiness  for  me. 

In  Paris  we  went  to  see  everything  of  artistic  interest,  but 
especially  of  architectural  interest.  I knew  nothing  of  archi- 
tecture myself,  but  was  naturally  attracted  by  beauty,  and  my 
husband  guided  my  opinions  with  his  knowledge.  I noticed 
with  surprise  his  indifference  to  most  of  the  pictures  in  the 
Museum  of  the  Louvre,  and  he  explained,  later,  that  he  could 
not  appreciate  them  at  that  period  in  the  development  of  his 
artistic  taste,  which  was  at  that  time  retarded  by  the  Pre- 
Bapliaelite  influence.  There  was  certainly  a great  evolution  of 
mind  between  this  state  of  quasi-indifference  and  the  fervid  en- 
thusiasm which  made  him  say  to  me  when  we  came  to  live  in 
Paris : “ At  any  rate  there  is  for  me,  as  a compensation  for  the 
beauty  of  natural  scenery,  an  inexhaustible  source  of  interest 
and  study  in  the  Louvre.” 

The  Museum  of  the  Luxembourg  containing  several  pictures 
by  modern  artists,  whose  merits  he  recognized,  was  frequently 
visited  by  us  — and  he  admired  heartily  among  others,  Rosa 
Bonheur,  Daubigny,  Charles  Jacque,  and  especially  Troy  on, 
whose  works  went  far  to  shake  his  faith  in  topographic  paint- 
ing, and  sowed  the  first  seeds  of  the  French  school’s  influence 
on  his  mind. 

At  the  expiration  of  the  month  we  returned  to  London,  and 
stayed  with  friends;  my  husband  introduced  me  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Mackay,  to  Mrs.  Leslie  and  her  family,  to  the  sons  and  daugh- 
ters of  Constable,  of  whom  he  speaks  in  his  autobiography, 


MEMOIR. 


245 


and  they  all  received  me  very  kindly,  and  told  me  what  hope- 
ful views  they  entertained  of  his  future  career.  We  also 
called  upon  Millais,  for  whose  talent  my  husband  had  a great 
admiration.  He  received  us  quite  informally,  and  we  had  a 
long  talk  in  French,  which  he  pronounced  remarkably  well; 
he  explained  it  to  me  by  saying  that  he  belonged  to  a Jersey 
family. 

It  was  also  during  this  London  visit  that  Mr.  Hamerton 
made  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Calderon,  who  also  spoke  French 
admirably, — an  acquaintance  which  was  to  ripen  into  friendship, 
and  last  to  the  end  of  my  husband’s  life.  He  also  went  to  all 
the  winter  exhibitions,  public  or  private,  where  he  stood  rooted 
before  all  the  works  which  could  teach  him  something  of  his 
difficult  art;  and  when  we  left  he  was  certain  of  having  ac- 
quired new  knowledge. 

Miss  Susan  Hamerton  having  said  to  Aunt  Mary  that  she 
had  no  objection  to  our  being  her  sister’s  guests,  we  went 
straight  to  “ The  Jumps  ” after  leaving  London.  This  time 
she  received  us  with  polite  coldness,  — like  perfect  strangers, — 
but  she  was  not  insulting,  only  at  times  somewhat  ungenerously 
sarcastic  with  me,  who  was  not  armed  to  parry  her  thrusts.  I 
felt  quite  miserable,  for  I did  not  wish  to  widen  the  gap  be- 
tween her  and  her  nephew,  and  on  the  other  hand  I did  not  see 
how  our  intercourse  could  be  made  more  pleasant  by  any  en- 
deavors of  mine,  for  I was  ignorant  of  the  art  of  ingratiating 
myself  with  persons  whom  I felt  adverse  to  me,  and  I must 
avow  that  I had  also  a certain  degree  of  pride  which  pre- 
vented me  from  making  advances  when  unfairly  treated.  I had 
always  lived  in  an  atmosphere  of  confidence,  love,  and  good- 
will,— perhaps  I had  been  a little  spoilt  by  the  kindness  of  my 
friends,  and  now  it  seemed  hard  to  be  a butt  for  ill-natured 
sarcasms.  These  shafts,  however,  were  seldom,  if  ever,  let 
loose  in  the  presence  of  my  husband,  who  would  not  have 
tolerated  it;  the  want  of  welcome  being  as  much  as  he  could 
bear.  Still,  there  was  no  doubt  that  matters  had  slightly 
mended  since  our  first  visit,  and  an  undeniable  token  of  this 
was  the  fact  of  Miss  Susan  Hamerton  extending  her  hand  to 
each  of  us  at  parting.  Had  I been  told  then  that  this  reluc- 


246 


MEMOIR. 


tant  hand  would  become  a firm  support  for  me;  that  these  cold 
eyes  would  be  filled  with  warm  tears  of  love,  and  that  I should 
he  tenderly  pressed  to  this  apparently  unsympathizing  bosom, 
I could  not  have  believed  it.  Yet  the  day  came  when  Aunt 
Susan  proved  my  dearest  friend,  and  when  Mr.  Thomas  Hamer- 
ton  said  to  his  nephew,  “ Susan  loves  you  much,  no  doubt,  but 
Eugenie  is  A 1 for  her.” 


MEMOIR . 


247 


CHAPTER  V. 

1859. 

Visits  from  friends  and  relatives.  — A Frenchman  in  the  Highlands.— 
Project  of  buying  the  island  of  Innistrynich. 

When  we  arrived  at  Innistrynich  from  the  Continent,  all  our 
neighbors  had  left  Loch  Awe,  and  we  had  only  as  occasional 
visitors  the  doctor  and  our  landlord  — the  rare  and  far-between 
calls  of  the  minister  ceasing  with  the  fine  days ; but  we  were  not 
afraid  of  our  solitude  a deux , and  we  had  the  pleasant  prospect 
of  entertaining  Aunt  Mary  and  Anne  Hamerton  early  in  the 
summer,  as  well  as  the  husband  of  my  godmother,  M.  Souve- 
rain,  a well-known  Parisian  publisher,  whose  acquaintance  Mr. 
Hamerton  had  made  through  my  father,  and  who  had  prom- 
ised to  come  to  see  us.  Meanwhile,  we  resumed  our  usual 
rules  of  work,  and  my  husband  began  several  oil  pictures  at  once, 
so  as  to  lose  no  time  in  having  to  wait  for  the  drying  of  the 
colors. 

As  he  had  made  great  progress  in  his  Erench,  he  proposed  that 
we  should  change  our  parts,  and  that  nothing  but  English 
should  he  spoken,  read,  or  written  by  me,  except  my  letters  to 
Erench  correspondents.  I delayed  my  submission  a while,  for 
it  seemed  that  if  I could  not  speak  — even  to  him  — confiden- 
tially and  with  perfect  ease,  that  indeed  would  be  solitude.  At 
last  I yielded  to  his  entreaties,  strengthened  by  my  father’s  re- 
monstrances, and  some  months  of  constantly  renewed  endeavors 
not  always  successful,  and  sometimes  accompanied  by  weari- 
ness, discouragement,  and  tears  — began  for  me,  my  teacher 
never  swerving  from  his  rule,  not  even  when,  despairing  of 
making  myself  understood,  I used  a Erench  word  or  expression. 
On  such  occasions  he  invariably  shook  his  head  and  said : “ I 
do  not  understand  Erench;  speak  English,”  at  the  same  time 
helping  me  out  of  my  difficulty  as  much  as  he  could. 


248 


MEMOIR. 


Aunt  Mary  and  Anne  Hamerton  had  promised  to  come  to 
see  us  during  the  summer,  and  we  had  repeated  our  invitation 
in  the  beginning  of  the  spring  of  1859,  but  Aunt  Mary  wrote 
to  her  nephew : “ I am  looking  forward  with  great  pleasure  to 
my  visit  to  you  and  Eugenie,  but  I think  I had  better  not 
come  till  the  little  cherub  has  come,  because  anybody  would 
know  better  what  to  do  than  I should.  ” 

She  wrote  again  on  June  6,  1859:  “I  am  very  glad  indeed 
that  Eugenie  and  the  dear  little  boy  are  doing  well ; give  my 
very  best  love  to  Eugenie,  and  tell  her  that  now  Anne  and  I 
are  looking  forward  with  great  pleasure  to  visiting  you  as  soon 
as  we  can.  ” 

They  came  in  July,  and  Aunt  Mary  was  delighted  with  the 
beauty  of  the  scenery,  with  the  strong  and  healthy  appearance 
of  her  little  grand-nephew,  whom  she  held  in  her  arms  as  much 
and  as  long  as  her  strength  allowed,  but  especially  by  the  re- 
covered affectionate  intimacy  with  my  husband,  and  also  by  the 
certainty  of  our  domestic  happiness. 

Anne  Hamerton  greatly  enjoyed  the  excursions  on  land  and 
water,  and  so  the  days  passed  pleasantly.  When  my  husband 
was  painting,  either  in  his  studio  or  out-of-doors,  we  sat  near 
him  and  read  aloud  by  turns.  Aunt  Mary  was  very  fond  of 
Moore’s  poetry,  and  read  it  well  and  feelingly,  though  her  voice 
was  rather  tremulous  and  weak.  To  Anne  were  given  passages 
of  “ Modern  Painters  ” as  examples  of  style,  and  Lamartine’s 
“ Jocelyn  ” for  French  pronunciation.  I fear  that  Aunt 
Mary’s  appreciation  of  it  was  more  imaginary  than  real.  “ The 
Newcomes”  fell  to  my  lot,  being  easier  than  poetry,  and  gave 
rise  to  many  a debate  about  its  superiority  or  inferiority  to 
Thackeray’s  other  works.  As  an  author  he  was  not  justly 
appreciated  by  Aunt  Mary,  who,  on  account  of  her  aristocratic 
loyalty,  did  not  forgive  him  for  “ The  Four  Georges.  ” 

We  had  also  a good  deal  of  music , my  husband,  having  been 
accustomed  to  play  duets  with  his  cousin,  soon  resumed  the 
practice,  and  though  I had  not  encouraged  him  as  a solo- 
player,  I liked  well  enough  to  listen  to  his  violin  with  a . piano 
accompaniment.  Anne’s  playing  was  only  mediocre,  but  as 
she  did  not  attempt  anything  above  her  skill,  it  was  pleasant 


MEMOIR. 


249 


enough ; she  accompanied  all  the  French  songs  I had  brought 
with  me,  and  they  were  numerous,  for  at  that  time  there  was 
no  soiree  in  Paris  — homely  or  fashionable  — without  romances  ; 
the  public  taste  was  not  so  fastidious  as  it  has  since  become, 
and  did  not  expect  from  a school-girl  the  performance  of  an 
operatic  prima  donna.  When  out  in  the  boat  on  a peaceful  and 
serene  night,  my  husband  rowing  us  slowly  on  the  glassy  water, 
it  seemed  that  the  melodies  which  rose  and  spread  in  the  hazy 
atmosphere  were  the  natural  complement  to  these  enchanted 
hours.  Anne  often  sang  “ Beautiful  Star  ” or  “ Long  Time 
Ago,  ” and  I was  always  asked  for  “ Le  Lac  ” or  “ La  Chanson 
de  Fortunio.” 

The  arrival  of  Monsieur  Souverain  added  a new  element  of 
cheerfulness  to  our  little  party : he  was  so  thoroughly  French  — 
that  is,  so  ignorant  of  other  habits  than  French  ones,  so  naively 
persuaded  of  their  superiority  to  all  others,  so  keenly  alive  to  any 
point  of  difference,  and  so  openly  astonished  when  he  discovered 
any,  always  wondering  at  the  reason  for  this  want  of  similarity  — 
that  he  was  a perpetual  source  of  interest  to  our  lady  visitors. 
He  could  not  speak  English,  but  he  always  addressed  Aunt 
Mary  in  his  voluble  and  rapid  Parisian  French,  and  she  was  all 
smiles,  and  appeared  to  enjoy  extremely  his  run  of  anecdotes 
about  French  celebrities  she  had  never  heard  of.  Now  and  then 
she  let  fall  a word  or  sometimes  a phrase  totally  irrelevant  to  what 
he  had  been  saying,  but  which  in  his  turn  he  politely  pretended 
to  appreciate,  although  he  had  not  understood  a single  syllable 
of  it.  It  was  most  amusing  to  see  them  walking  side  by  side,  evi- 
dently enjoying  each  other’s  society  and  animated  conver- 
sation ; only  we  remarked  that  they  were  careful  to  remain  well 
out  of  profane  hearing  by  keeping  a good  deal  in  front  of  us,  or 
else  loitering  behind. 

We  had  been  awaiting  M.  Souverain  for  some  days,  no 
date  having  been  fixed,  when  one  morning  our  attention  was 
aroused  by  loud  and  prolonged  shouts  coming  from  that  part 
of  the  road  which  affords  a view  of  Innistrynich,  before 
descending  to  the  bay.  With  the  help  of  his  telescope,  my 
husband  soon  discovered  a small,  spare  human  form,  now 
waving  a pocket-handkerchief,  and  now  making  a speaking- 


250 


MEMOIR. 


trumpet  of  both  hands  to  carry  its  appeal  as  far  as  the  island. 
“ It  must  be  M.  Souverain,”  Gilbert  said,  as  he  sent  a shout 
of  welcome,  and  ran  to  the  pier  to  loosen  the  boat  and  row  it 
across  the  bay. 

He  had  scarcely  landed  our  visitor  when  enthusiastic  ejacu- 
lations met  our  ears:  “ Mais  c’est  le  Paradis  terrestre  ici!  ” 
“Quel  pays  de  reve!  ” “Quel  sejour  enchanteur!  ” Then, 
with  a change  of  tone  habitual  to  him,  and  a little  sarcastic: 
“Yes,  but  as  difficult  to  find  as  dream-land;  I thought  I 
should  have  to  turn  back  to  France  without  meeting  with 
you,  for  no  one  seemed  to  be  aware  of  the  existence  of  the 
‘ lac  Ave  * any  more  than  of  ‘ Ineestreeneeche,’  and  I was 
beginning  to  suspect  your  descriptions  to  have  been  purely 
imaginary,  when  un  trait  de  lumiere  illuminated  my  brain. 
I bought  a map  of  Scotland,  and  without  troubling  myself 
any  longer  with  the  impossible  pronunciation  of  impossible 
names,  I stuck  a pin  on  the  spot  of  the  map  that  I wanted 
to  reach  and  showed  it  either  to  a railway  employe  or  to  a 
matelot , and  I was  sure  to  hear  1 All  right/  — I have  learnt 
that  at  least.  But  upon  my  life,  to  this  day  I can’t  explain 
why  no  one  seemed  to  understand  me,  even  at  Inverary,  at 
the  hotel.  I asked:  ‘ Quel  chemin  doit  on  prendre  pour 
aller  chez  Monsieur  Amertone,  dans  Pile  d ’Ineestreeneeche 
sur  le  lac  Ave  ? ’ That  was  quite  plain , was  not  it  ? . . . 
Well,  they  only  shook  their  heads  till  I gave  them  the 
address  you  had  wrritten  for  me,  then  of  course  they  came  out 
with  ‘ All  right,’  and  a good  deal  besides  which  was  of  no 
consequence  to  me,  and  at  last  I am  here  ‘all  right.’  But 
why  on  earth  do  they  spell  Londres,  London;  Glascow, 
Glasgow;  and  Cantorbery,  Canterbury?  It  is  exceedingly 
puzzling  to  strangers.”  My  husband  was  greatly  tickled,  and 
rather  encouraged  this  flow  of  impressions;  he  thought  it 
extremely  interesting  in  a cultivated  and  intelligent  man  who 
was  far  from  untravelled,  for  he  had  been  in  Spain,  Belgium, 
Germany,  Italy,  and  Algeria,  and  who  still  evinced  a child- 
like wonder  at  every  unfamiliar  object.  For  instance,  he 
would  say:  “Now,  Mr.  Hamerton,  I am  sure  you  can’t  jus- 
tify this  queer  custom  in  English  hotels,  of  putting  on  the 


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251 


table  a roast  of  eight  pounds’  weight,  at  least , or  a whole 
cheese.  I can’t  eat  all  that,  then  why  serve  it  me?  . . . 
And  why  also  those  immense  washing-basins?  They  are  so 
cumbersome  and  heavy  that  it  is  almost  as  much  as  I can 
achieve  to  empty  them : I don’t  take  a bath  in  them,  I take 
it  in  a baignoire , and  I have  not  to  empty  it.” 

The  conversation,  however,  often  ran  on  serious  subjects, 
and  M.  Souverain  heard  with  deep  interest  from  my  husband 
an  account  of  his  plans,  both  literary  and  artistic,  and  said 
once : “ If  you  intend  to  devote  your  life  to  painting  High- 
land scenery,  and  since  your  wife  loves  this  admirable  island 
as  much  as  you  do,  why  should  not  you  buy  it  and  secure 
the  benefit  of  the  improvements  you  are  carrying  on  ? It  is 
somewhat  solitary  at  times,  no  doubt,  but  as  you  will  be 
obliged  to  go  to  London  and  Paris  every  year  at  least,  you 
might  arrange  to  do  so  in  winter  and  enjoy  society  there,  and 
a change  at  the  same  time.  You  tell  me  that  your  property 
yields  at  present  but  a very  poor  income,  — why  not  sell  it, 
or  part  of  it,  since  it  has  no  attraction  for  you,  and  live  here, 
on  your  own  property,  free  of  rent  ? ” 

Gilbert  himself  had  entertained  the  idea,  and  had  developed 
it  to  me  with  flattering  possibilities  and  speculations,  but  I 
was  already  beginning  to  fear  that  our  present  existence  was 
too  exquisite  to  last.  We  had  received  bad  news  from  Uncle 
Thomas  about  the  rents;  the  mill  was  not  let,  and  would 
require  a heavy  outlay  before  it  could  find  a tenant;  the 
machinery  was  old,  out-of-date,  and  would  have  to  be  replaced 
by  new  with  the  modern  improvements,  and  the  cottages 
surrounding  the  mill  were  likely  to  remain  tenantless  so  long 
as  the  mill  did  not  work,  or  the  rents  be  but  irregularly 
forthcoming.  In  fact,  our  income  was  already  insufficient, 
and  my  husband  was  seriously  considering  whether  he  ought 
to  borrow  in  order  to  set  up  the  mill  again,  or  whether  it 
would  be  more  profitable  to  sell  the  property  and  draw  upon 
the  capital  as  we  required  it,  till  he  could  sell  his  pic- 
tures. At  last  he  decided  to  consult  his  uncle,  who  was 
a prudent  man  of  business,  and  had  a long  experience  as 
landed  proprietor.  After  due  consideration  Mr.  T.  Hamer- 


252 


MEMOIR . 


ton  advised  him  to  go  to  the  necessary  expense  for  repairs  to 
the  mill. 

Meanwhile  M.  Souverain  was  growing  more  enchanted  with 
Loch  Awe  day  by  day,  and  could  not  hear  the  idea  that  we 
might  be  turned  out  of  Innistrynich  some  day  by  a new  owner 
(for  the  present  one  was  getting  old,  and  had  said  that  at  the 
end  of  our  lease  he  would  put  it  up  for  sale),  so  he  tempted 
my  husband  by  the  almost  irresistible  offer  of  a third  of 
the  purchase  money,  in  consideration  of  having  two  rooms 
reserved  for  himself  and  his  wife  — my  godmother  — during 
two  of  the  summer  months.  But  Aunt  Mary’s  secret  desire  — 
and  perhaps  hope  — of  seeing  us  established  at  a future  time 
nearer  to  herself,  suggested  some  very  weighty  considerations 
against  the  project.  “ When  your  child  or  maybe  children 
grow  up  and  have  to  attend  school,  will  you  resign  your- 
selves to  send  them  so  far  as  will  he  inevitable  if  you  are 
still  here?”  she  said;  “and  will  your  healths  he  able  to 
stand  the  severity  of  the  climate  when  you  are  no  longer  so 
young  ? The  distance  from  a doctor  is  another  serious  affair 
in  case  of  sickness,  and  I myself,  as  well  as  Eugenie’s  parents, 
am  on  the  downward  course,  and  may  soon  be  deprived  of  the 
possibility  of  undertaking  so  fatiguing  a journey.”  All  this 
had  been  foreseen  by  her  nephew,  of  course,  but  his  attach- 
ment to  the  place  was  such  that  he  found  ready  answers  to 
all  objections.  “ Our  children  would  be  educated  at  home  — 
the  climate,  though  damp,  was  not  more  severe  or  unhealthy 
than  the  average  — doctors  were  of  no  good,  generally  speak- 
ing — and  we  might  visit  our  relations  more  frequently  in 
case  they  were  unable  to  come  to  us.” 

So  the  question  remained  open. 

Gilbert,  thinking  it  desirable  to  give  his  guests  a more 
extensive  acquaintance  with  the  surrounding  country  than  his 
boats  could  afford,  proposed  to  take  a carriage,  which  would 
be  ferried  from  Port  Sonachan  to  the  other  side  of  the  lake, 
after  which  we  might  drive  as  much  as  possible  along  the 
shores  till  we  reached  Ardhonnel  Castle.  If  we  arrived 
early  we  would  visit  the  ruins  and  the  island;  if  too  late,  it 
would  he  reserved  for  the  following  morning,  as  we  intended 


MEMOIR. 


253 


to  spend  the  night  at  the  inn,  and  to  resume  our  drive  in 
time  to  be  hack  at  Innistrynich  for  dinner. 

We  started  merrily, — Aunt  Mary,  Anne  Hamerton,  M. 
Souverain,  my  husband,  myself,  and  baby;  for  our  guests 
kindly  insisted  upon  my  being  one  of  the  party,  in  spite  of 
my  small  encumbrance,  which  I could  not  leave  behind.  I 
did  my  best  to  be  excused,  but  they  were  unanimous  in 
declaring  that  they  would  not  go  if  I stayed. 

“ You  need  not  walk  unless  you  like,”  they  said,  “ for  there 
will  always  be  the  carriage,  the  boat,  or  the  inn  for  you.” 

It  was  a splendid  day  of  bright  sunshine  in  a tenderly  blue 
sky,  with  a pure,  soft  breeze  hardly  rippling  the  lake.  We 
all  took  our  seats  inside  the  roomy,  open  carriage,  my  hus- 
band leaving  the  management  of  the  horses  to  the  driver 
that  he  might  be  free  to  enjoy  the  scenery.  M.  Souverain 
remarked  that  if  the  Highlanders  were  a strong  race,  their 
horses  hardly  deserved  the  same  epithet;  and  indeed  the  pair 
harnessed  to  our  carriage  appeared  very  lean  and  somewhat 
shaky,  but  the  driver  affirmed  that  they  were  capital  for  hill- 
work,  though  he  would  not  swear  to  their  swiftness,  and  as  we 
did  not  want  to  go  fast,  it  was  again  “all  right”  from  M. 
Souverain  when  the  explanation  had  been  translated  to  him. 

Fast  we  certainly  did  not  go,  and,  moreover,  we  often 
stopped  to  admire  the  changing  views,  but  the  poor  starved 
beasts  did  not  pick  up  any  more  spirit  during  their  frequent 
rests;  they  painfully  resumed  their  dull  jog-trot  for  a short 
time,  which  soon  dwindled  to  slow,  weary  paces  that  even  the 
whip  in  no  way  hastened.  However,  with  plenty  of  time 
before  us,  we  only  turned  it  into  a joke,  pretending  to  be 
terrified  by  the  ardor  of  our  steeds. 

My  husband  had  to  tell  M.  Souverain  all  the  legends  of 
the  places  we  were  passing,  and  as  he  himself  “ courtisait  la 
Muse,”  he  listened  with  rapt  attention,  so  as  to  be  able  to 
treat  the  subjects  in  French  verse.  “ This  country  is  a mine 
for  a poet!  ” he  frequently  exclaimed. 

Luckily  we  had  packed  some  provisions  in  the  carriage,  for 
the  sun  was  already  declining,  — like  the  pace  of  the  horses,  — 
and  we  were  not  yet  at  the  end  of  the  drive  by  a good  distance. 


254 


MEMOIR. 


The  fresh  air  had  sharpened  our  appetites,  and  Gilbert  pro- 
posed that  we  should  have  something  to  eat  whilst  the  horses 
were  taken  out  of  harness  and  given  a feed  to  refresh  them 
and  give  them  a little  more  vigor  for  the  rest  of  the  journey. 

By  the  time  we  had  finished  our  collation  the  air  had  fresh- 
ened, and  it  was  twilight;  we  agreed  that  now  it  was  desir- 
able to  get  within  shelter  as  soon  as  possible,  although  the 
charm  of  the  hour  was  indescribable;  but  the  thin  white  mist 
was  beginning  to  float  over  the  lake,  and  the  last  remnants  of 
the  afterglow  had  entirely  died  out.  What  was  our  dismay 
when  we  found  that  all  my  husband’s  efforts,  joined  to  those 
of  the  driver,  to  make  the  horses  get  up  were  ineffectual; 
there  they  lay  on  the  grass,  and  neither  expostulations,  pulls, 
cracks  of  the  whip,  or  even  kicks,  I am  sorry  to  say,  seemed 
to  produce  the  slightest  effect  upon  their  determination  to 
remain  stretched  at  full  length  on  the  ground.  What  were 
we  to  dot  The  driver  vociferated  in  Gaelic,  but  the  poor 
brutes  did  not  mind,  and  they  would  have  been  cruelly  mal- 
treated if  we  had  not  interfered  to  protect  them.  Gilbert 
said  to  the  man:  “You  see  well  enough  that  they  have  no 
strength  to  work,  therefore  allow  them  to  rest  till  they  are 
able  to  go  back.  I leave  you  here,  and  as  I have  ladies  with 
me  I must  try  to  find  some  sort  of  shelter  for  the  night.” 
The  man  was  almost  frantic  when  he  saw  us  go,  but  we  all 
agreed  with  my  husband,  and  in  the  hope  of  finding  a cottage 
set  forth  resolutely  on  foot. 

It  was  now  almost  dark,  but  our  spirits  were  not  damped 
yet,  and,  as  M.  Souverain  remarked,  it  was  “ une  veritable 
a venture.”  Still,  I was  beginning  to  find  my  baby  somewhat 
heavy  after  walking  for  three-quarters  of  an  hour,  when  the 
gentlemen  in  front  of  us  cheerily  encouraged  our  exertions  by 
calling  out,  u A cottage,  a cottage!  ” and  when  we  came  up  to 
them  they  were  loudly  knocking  at  the  door,  unable  to  obtain 
a sign  of  life  from  within;  however,  the  smell  of  burning 
peat  clearly  indicated  that  the  cottage  was  inhabited,  and  my 
husband  shouted  our  story,  begging  that  the  door  might  be 
opened  and  the  ladies  allowed  to  rest.  Then  on  the  other 
side  of  the  door,  which  remained  closed,  a voice  answered  in 


MEMOIR. 


255 


Gaelic  we  knew  not  what,  except  that  the  tone  of  it  was 
unmistakably  angry,  and  unbroken  silence  ensued. 

There  was  nothing  left  to  us  but  to  resume  our  walk, 
enlivened  by  M.  Souverain  singing  the  celebrated  song, 
“Chez  les  montagnards  Ecossais  Thospitalite  se  donne,”  etc. 
Every  one  in  turn  offered  to  hold  the  baby ; but  Aunt  Mary , 
I knew,  had  enough  to  do  for  herself,  Anne  was  not  strong, 
and  my  confidence  in  the  fitness  of  the  gentlemen  for  the 
function  of  nurse  was  very  limited.  My  husband  kept  up  our 
courage  by  affirming  that  we  were  not  far  from  Ardhonnel, 
and  consequently  within  a short  distance  of  the  inn ; indeed , 
he  called  us  to  the  side  of  the  road,  from  which  we  could  see 
the  noble  ruin  with  our  own  eyes,  now  that  the  new  moon 
had  risen  and  was  peeping  between  the  clouds  occasionally. 
It  was  a welcome  sight,  for  by  this  time  we  were  really  weary ; 
but  alas!  the  inn  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  lake,  and  we 
had  no  boat;  still,  Gilbert  felt  sure  there  must  be  one  not 
very  far  off,  to  take  the  people  across,  and  after  surveying  the 
shore  for  a while  he  discovered  a little  pier,  with  a rowing- 
boat  chained  to  it,  and  a very  small  cottage  almost  close  to 
where  we  stood;  so  he  went  to  knock  at  the  door,  and  again 
Gaelic  was  given  in  answer.  But  this  time  the  door  was 
opened  by  a woman  who  had  only  taken  time  to  put  on  a 
short  petticoat,  and  to  throw  a small  shawl  over  her  head; 
her  feet,  legs,  and  arms  were  bare,  and  she  looked  strong  and 
placid;  her  English  was  scanty,  but  she  understood  pretty 
well  what  we  wanted,  and  declared  herself  willing  to  row 
our  party  to  the  other  side  if  any  one  could  steer,  for  her 
“ man  ” was  asleep  in  bed  and  too  tired  for  work ; so  my  hus- 
band took  a pair  of  oars,  the  woman  another,  and  I steered 
from  indications  frequently  given.  At  last  we  stood  in  front 
of  the  inn,  and  it  was  past  midnight.  Not  a light  was  visi- 
ble, not  a sound  was  heard,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  life 
except  a faint  blue  wreath  of  peat-smoke ; but  it  was  enough 
to  revive  our  energies  and  hopes.  In  response  to  our  united 
appeals  a dishevelled  head  of  red  hair  cautiously  looked  down 
from  a half-opened  window,  and  our  story  had  to  be  told 
again.  Well,  this  time  we  were  let  in  and  allowed  to  sit 


256 


MEMOIR. 


down,  whilst  the  ostler’s  wife  was  being  roused  as  well  as 
the  servant,  for  we  were  told  that  the  tourists’  season,  being 
already  over,  the  inn  was  no  longer  in  trim  for  customers. 
This  was  bad  news,  for  the  good  effects  of  the  luncheon  had 
passed  off,  and  as  soon  as  we  could  rest  and  forget  our  fatigue 
we  became  sensible  of  ravenous  hunger.  The  good  innkeeper 
and  his  wife  were  so  obliging  and  good-hearted  that  they 
kept  deprecating  the  absence  of  all  the  comforts  they  would 
have  liked  to  give  us.  However,  my  husband  had  brought 
a large  basket  of  dry  peat,  and  M.  Souverain  heaped  it  up 
dexterously,  and  blew  upon  what  remained  of  red  ashes  under 
his  pile,  whilst  a kettle  was  placed  upon  the  glowing  embers. 
“ I am  afraid  I can’t  offer  you  the  same  cheer  that  you  would 
give  me  at  the  maison  Doree”  Gilbert  said  to  his  friend. 
“ Qa  serait  gater  la  couleur  locale ; oh!  some  bread-and- 
cheese,  with  a bottle  of  beer,  will  do  very  well  for  me.” 
But  there  was  neither  bread  nor  cheese  nor  beer;  and  no  kind 
of  abode,  however  miserable,  had  M.  Souverain  ever  known 
to  be  without  bread.  “ What  do  they  live  upon  then  ? ” he 
asked.  “Porridge,  and  they  occasionally  make  scones,”  was 
the  reply.  Luckily  for  us  there  happened  to  be  an  ample 
supply  of  them,  freshly  made,  and  with  these,  boiled  eggs, 
and  fried  bacon,  we  had  one  of  the  best  appreciated  meals  we 
ever  tasted.  It  was  followed  by  hot  whiskey-toddy  and  cigars 
for  the  gentlemen,  by  tea  and  clotted  cream  for  the  ladies, 
and  for  a while  we  quite  revived;  but  sleep  would  have  its 
way,  and  there  being  only  two  beds,  occupied  by  the  owners 
of  the  inn,  they  charitably  yielded  them  to  us;  and  when  the 
sheets  had  been  changed,  Aunt  Mary  and  Anne  shared  one, 
whilst  I thankfully  retired  to  the  other  with  baby.  The 
gentlemen  remained  near  the  fire  in  the  dining-room,  one  of 
them  stretched  on  the  sofa,  and  the  other  using  its  cushions 
as  a mattress. 

On  the  following  morning  I learned  the  meaning  of  the 
word  “ smart  ” for  the  first  time,  it  being  so  frequently 
repeated  by  our  good  hostess,  who  had  made  room  for  me  by 
the  kitchen  fire  to  dress  my  child.  “ How  smart  is  the  sweet 
baby!  ” she  constantly  exclaimed  with  honest  admiration,  as 


MEMOIR. 


257 


she  made  him  laugh  by  tickling  his  little  feet  or  chucking 
his  chin. 

Our  breakfast  was  a repetition  of  the  supper  in  every  detail, 
and  our  enjoyment  of  it  more  limited.  My  husband  soon 
went  out  to  hire  a boat  and  a couple  of  men  to  row  us  back 
again.  They  took  us  first  to  Ardhonnel,  of  which  he  has 
given  a description  in  “The  Isles  of  Loch  Awe,”  — 

“ A gray,  tall  fortress,  on  a wooded  isle, 

Not  buried,  but  adorned  by  foliage.” 

The  day  was  fine  again,  and  the  return  home  ideal;  Gilbert 
steered  and  relieved  each  rower  in  turn,  while  they  sang 
their  Scotch  melodies  with  voices  strong  and  clear,  and  we 
all  joined  in  the  chorus.  When  we  reached  Port  Sonachan 
we  heard  that  our  driver  had  only  arrived  towards  mid-day, 
and  that  his  horses  not  being  strong  enough  to  stop  the  car- 
riage on  the  slope  to  the  ferry,  had  fallen  into  the  lake,  from 
which  they  were  rescued  with  great  difficulty.  We  saw  the 
carriage  still  dripping  wet,  which  had  been  left  out  to  dry, 
and  for  the  repairs  of  which  Gilbert  later  on  received  a bill 
that  he  indignantly  refused  to  pay. 

This  “ romantic  excursion,  ” as  M.  Souverain  called  it,  had 
so  much  developed  his  fancy  for  Loch  Awe  that,  before  tak- 
ing leave  of  us,  he  offered  to  go  halves  with  my  husband  in 
the  purchase  of  Innistrynich ; but  there  was  plenty  of  time  for 
reflection,  as  the  lease  had  four  years  to  run,  so  no  decision 
was  taken  then. 

A fortnight  after  the  departure  of  our  Parisian  guest,  Aunt 
Mary  and  Anne  left  us  regretfully,  — the  former  especially, 
who  was  going  back  reluctantly  to  the  jealous  remarks  of  her 
sister,  and  did  not  feel  disposed  to  listen  patiently  to  criti- 
cisms on  her  nephew’s  character  and  conduct  or  on  mine. 
Prom  her  letters  afterwards  she  had  not  a pleasant  time  of 
it,  but  relieved  the  painfulness  of  it  as  much  as  possible  by 
accepting  at  intervals  several  invitations  from  her  friends  in 
the  neighborhood.  This  state  of  affairs  made  my  husband 
very  miserable,  for  he  would  have  done  anything  to  secure 

17 


258 


MEMOIR. 


his  Aunt  Mary’s  happiness  and  tranquillity  of  mind;  and  to 
help  him  in  his  endeavors,  I proposed  that  she  should  come 
to  live  with  us.  This  is  part  of  her  answer:  — 

“ I hope  to  return  with  you  in  May  next.  Give  my  very  best 
love  to  dear  Eugenie,  and  tell  her  that  I thank  her  very  much  for 
proposing  to  gratify  your  affection  to  me  by  proposing  that  I 
should  live  with  her  and  you ; but  Susan  and  I have  taken  each 
other  for  better  and  worse,  unless  some  deserving  person  of  the 
other  sex  should  propose,  and  the  one  he  proposes  to  should  say, 
Yes,  if  you  please.  But  I think  we  shall  never  separate.” 

It  is  with  regret  that  I have  to  recall  Miss  Susan  Hamer- 
ton’s  unamiable  temper  at  that  time;  one  thing  comes  in 
mitigation,  but  I only  knew  of  it  years  afterwards:  she  was 
suffering  much  from  unavowed  nervousness.  Her  nephew 
told  me  that  when  living  in  the  same  house  with  her  he  had 
sometimes  noticed  that  she  ate  hardly  anything  and  looked 
unwell;  but  to  his  affectionate  inquiries  she  used  to  answer: 
“My  health  is  good  enough,  thank  you;  and  I know  what 
you  imply  when  you  pretend  to  be  anxious  about  it  — you 
mean  that  I am  cross  and  ill-tempered.”  She  made  it  a point 
never  to  plead  guilty  to  any  physical  ailment,  as  if  it  were  a 
weakness  unworthy  of  her,  and  also  to  discourage  all  attempts 
at  sympathy. 

Another  thing  I learned  too  late  was  her  jealous  disposi- 
tion, which  explained  her  attitude  towards  her  nephew  at  the 
time  of  his  marriage;  it  was  love  turned  sour,  and  although 
we  tried  to  discover  the  cause  of  her  bitterness  in  her  worldly 
disappointment,  we  became  convinced  that  she  would  have 
felt  as  bitter  had  the  bride  been  wealthy  and  of  noble  lineage, 
because  her  jealousy  would  have  tortured  her  as  much,  if  not 
more.  She  became  jealous  of  her  sister  when  we  invited  her; 
and  long  afterwards,  when  her  brother  became  a widower,  and 
she  went  to  live  with  him,  he  confided  to  his  nephew  that 
he  had  had  to  bear  frequent  outbursts  of  jealousy.  It  was 
merely  the  exaggeration  of  a tender  sentiment  which  could 
not  brook  a rival. 


MEMOIR. 


259 


CHAPTER  VI. 

1859-1860. 

Financial  complications.  — Summer  visitors.  — Boats  and  boating.  — Visit 
to  Paris.  — W.  Wyld.  — Project  of  a farm  in  France.  — Partnership 
with  M.  Gindriez. 

While  the  “ Painter’s  Camp  ” was  progressing,  which  was  to 
be  the  foundation  of  my  husband’s  success,  three  pictures  had 
been  sent  to  the  Academy  and  rejected;  but  after  the  first  feel- 
ing of  disappointment  he  was  cheered  up  again  by  a favorable 
opinion  from  Millais  about  those  pictures  — one  of  them 
in  particular,  a sailing-boat  on  Loch  Awe  in  the  twilight, 
which  was  pronounced  true  in  effect  and  color.  Aunt  Mary 
wrote  to  him  soon  after : “ I am  so  very  glad  of  the  account 
you  give  of  your  pictures,  and  of  Millais’  opinion  of  them;  it 
is  very  encouraging.  I do  hope  truly  that  they  will  attract 
gain,  good-will,  and  success  for  you.” 

As  it  would  have  been  very  expensive  to  have  the  pictures 
sent  to  and  fro,  with  the  deterioration  of  the  frames,  packing, 
etc. , Mr.  Hamerton  begged  a friend  who  lived  in  London  to 
keep  them  in  one  of  his  empty  rooms  (he  had  a whole  floor 
unfurnished)  till  there  were  a sufficient  number  of  them  for 
a private  exhibition,  in  which  he  intended  to  give  lectures  on 
artistic  subjects. 

The  mill,  after  thorough  and  expensive  repairs,  had  been 
let,  but  there  was  bad  news  from  the  tenant  of  the  coal-mine, 
who  refused  to  pay  the  rent  any  longer,  under  pretext  that 
the  mine  was  exhausted.  This  looked  very  serious,  as,  after 
referring  the  matter  to  his  uncle,  who  was  a solicitor,  my 
husband  learned  that  the  lease  made  during  his  minority  did 
not  specify  the  quantity  of  coal  that  the  tenant  was  allowed 
to  extract  from  the  mine,  and,  of  course,  as  much  as  possible 
had  been  taken  out  of  it.  Still,  as  there  was  an  agreement  to 
pay  the  rent  during  twelve  more  years,  the  tenant’s  right  to 


260 


MEMOIR. 


withdraw  from  the  signed  agreement  might  be  contested,  and 
the  affair  had  to  be  put  into  the  hands  of  a lawyer.  This 
was  a cause  of  great  anxiety,  and  it  was  not  the  only  one. 
The  health  of  my  father  had  become  very  unsatisfactory  of 
late,  and  his  situation  was  no  longer  secure.  He  had  been 
on  most  excellent  terms  with  the  English  gentlemen  who 
were  at  the  head  of  the  firm  in  which  he  was  cashier,  but 
they  were  retiring  from  business,  and  my  father  did  not  know 
what  was  coming  next.  He  wrote  on  October  9,  1859:  — 

“Enfin  je  commence  & respirer;  depuis  bient6t  six  semaines 
je  ne  savais  pas  vraiment  ou  donner  de  la  tete.  Nous  avons  eu 
transformation  de  societe,  inventaire,  assemblee  d’actionnaires, 
tout  cela  m’a  donne  un  effrayant  surcroit  de  besogne  et  de  fatigue, 
et  je  n’avais  pas  le  courage  de  reprendre  la  plume  lorsque  je  ren- 
trais  au  logis,  harasse  et  souffrant.  Aujourd’hui  nos  affaires  com- 
mencent  h reprendre  leur  cours  normal.” 

On  the  28th  of  the  same  month  I find  this  phrase  in  one 
of  his  letters:  “ Ma  position  est  plus  tendue  que  jamais  et  les 
changements  survenus  dans  notre  administration  me  donnent 
des  craintes  serieuses  pour  l’avenir.  ” Then  we  learned  that  a 
project  for  lighting  Bucharest  with  gas  was  on  foot,  and  that 
my  father  was  to  go  there  to  ascertain  the  chances  of  success. 
Some  outlay  was  necessary,  and  my  husband,  who  had  heard 
of  it  through  a friend,  generously  offered  to  defray  the  pre- 
liminary expenses;  his  offer,  however,  was  declined  for  the 
time,  there  being  as  yet  no  certainty  of  profit. 

Early  in  1860  Gilbert  had  to  leave  Innistrynich  to  visit 
his  property  and  receive  the  rents.  He  always  felt  reluctant 
to  go  there,  because  of  the  painful  reminiscences  of  his  early 
youth,  and  of  the  dreariness  of  the  scenery.  There  was  also 
another  reason,  still  more  powerful,  — he  was  not  made  to  be 
a landlord,  being  too  tender-hearted.  How  often  did  it 
happen  that,  instead  of  insisting  on  getting  his  rent  from 
a poor  operative,  he  left  some  of  his  own  money  in  the 
hand  of  wife  or  child?  — frequently  enough  in  hard  times, 
I know. 

He  was  staying  at  “The  Jumps,”  and  went  from  there  to 


MEMOIR. 


261 


Shaw,  Burnley,  and  Manchester;  he  never  missed  writing  to 
me  every  day,  either  a short  note  or  a long  letter,  according 
to  his  spare  time.  In  one  of  them  he  says : — 

“ Ma  tante  Marie  est  bien  bonne,  mais  nous  ne  parlons  jamais  de 
choses  serieuses — toujours  des  riens.  Comme  la  vie  est  etrange! 
k quoi  bon  aller  loin  pour  voir  ses  amis  quand  ils  vous  disent  sim- 
plement  qu’il  fait  froid ! . . . ma  tante  Susan  est  assez  gracieuse, 
mais  j’ai  vu  des  nuages.  Je  suis  all 6 hier  k Manchester  oil  j’avais 
k faire ; j’y  ai  vu  quelques  tableaux  et  je  suis  de  plus  en  plus  con- 
vaincu  que  la  meilleure  chose  pour  moi  est  de  peindre  plutot  dans 
le  genre  des  mais  peintres  Fran^ais  que  dans  celui  de  nos  Pre- 
Raphaelites,  ces  realistes  impitoyables  qui  ne  nous  epargnent  pas 
un  brin  de  gazon.” 

This  letter  contains  a strong  proof  of  his  mind’s  artistic 
evolution. 

In  the  course  of  the  summer  we  had  several  unexpected 
visitors,  among  them  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mackay,  Mr.  Pettie  the 
artist,  and  the  gentleman  described  in  the  “ Painter’s  Camp  ” 
as  Gordon,  who  frequently  called,  — sometimes  with  his  son, 
sometimes  alone,  and  on  such  occasions  generally  remained 
for  the  night.  Being  an  early  riser,  and  indisposed  to  remain 
idle  till  breakfast  time,  he  was  found  in  the  morning  knit- 
ting an  immense  woollen  stocking,  which  he  afterwards  took 
into  use , and  found  most  comfortable  wear  for  grouse-shooting, 
as  he  took  care  to  inform  me. 

We  had  once  another  visitor,  who  had  come  to  paint  from 
nature,  and  was  staying  at  the  Dalmally  inn;  his  name  I 
will  not  mention  on  account  of  a little  adventure  which  made 
him  so  miserable  that  he  left  our  house  breakfastless,  rather 
than  face  me  after  it.  He  had  been  offered  a bedroom,  and 
had  slept  soundly  till  about  five  in  the  morning,  when  his 
attention  was  attracted  by  a small  phrenological  bust  on  the 
chimney-piece,  which  he  took  into  his  bed,  with  the  inten- 
tion of  studying  it  at  leisure.  As  he  lay  back  on  the  pillow, 
however,  holding  up  the  bust  and  turning  it  sideways  to  read 
the  indications,  he  became  aware  of  a black  dribble  rapidly 
staining  the  sheets  and  counterpane.  Horrified  at  such  a 


262 


MEMOIR. 


sight,  he  sprang  out  of  bed,  and  discovered  — too  late  — that 
he  had  totally  emptied  the  inkstand. 

About  the  same  time  we  had  the  pleasure  of  becoming 
acquainted  with  Captain  Clifton  and  his  wife,  Lady  Bertha 
Clifton,  who  had  rented  a large  house  on  the  other  side  of  the 
lake,  and  proved  very  friendly  neighbors.  Lady  Bertha  was 
extremely  handsome;  her  voice  was  splendid,  and  she  sang 
readily  when  she  was  asked.  Our  neighbors  had  speculated  a 
good  deal  about  her  probable  appearance,  ways,  and  disposi- 
tion, and  the  news  that  a lady  in  her  own  right  was  coming 
had  created  quite  a commotion.  I asked  to  be  enlightened  on 
so  important  a subject,  and  soon  heard  all  the  details  from 
very  willing  lips.  She  was  very  simple  in  dress,  and  often 
came  to  call  upon  us  in  a fresh  cotton-print  gown  and  straw 
hat,  with  only  the  feather  of  a heron  or  a woodcock  in  it.  Her 
husband,  Captain  Clifton,  retired  from  the  army,  spoke  French 
fairly  well,  and  although  he  had  little  in  common  with  Gilbert 
— being  an  enthusiastic  sportsman  — soon  became  his  most  con- 
stant visitor.  Both  of  them  liked  the  country  and  were  fond 
of  boating,  and  they  both  took  an  interest  in  politics. 

A very  pleasant  feature  had  been  added  to  the  lake  by 
the  appearance  of  a small  steamer  belonging  to  a proprietor 
beyond  Port  Sonachan,  who  came  with  his  wife  to  Loch  Awe 
every  summer.  They  invited  us  from  time  to  time  to  join 
a fishing  party,  and  we  had  either  lunch  or  supper  on  board. 
There  was  a cabin  for  shelter,  and  the  ladies,  being  thus  pro- 
tected against  the  almost  unavoidable  showers,  readily  joined 
the  salmon-fishers. 

In  this  summer  of  1860  Aunt  Mary  came  with  our  cousin 
Jane,  whose  sweet  disposition  and  charm  of  manner  greatly 
disturbed  the  peace  of  mind  of  a bachelor  visitor,  a distant 
relation  of  my  husband,  who  was  looking  about  for  a shoot- 
ing. Everything  in  his  behavior  seemed  pointing  to  a not 
distant  offer;  but  Gilbert,  who  was  already  a good  judge  of 
character,  strongly  doubted  the  final  step.  He  said  to  me: 
“ If  Henry  is  too  sorely  tempted,  he  will  run  away  rather 
than  expose  his  wealth  to  the  perils  of  matrimony ; he  does 
not  spend  his  money,  he  is  constantly  earning  more  and  accu- 


MEMOIR. 


263 


nrulating,  but  he  has  told  me  that  no  amount  of  conjugal  hap- 
piness could  be  a compensation  to  him  if,  at  the  end  of  the 
year,  he  found  out  that  he  had  spent  a thousand  pounds  more 
than  what  he  was  accustomed  to  spend  regularly.”  And  it 
happened  that  he  left  abruptly,  just  as  my  husband  had  fore- 
told, but  not  without  promising  a future  commission  for  two 
pictures  when  his  billiard-room  should  be  finished. 

The  love  of  boating  was  very  strong  in  Gilbert,  but  the 
love  of  planning  new  boats  with  improvements  was  still 
stronger;  in  fact,  he  always  had  in  a portfolio  plans  more  or 
less  advanced  for  some  kind  of  boat,  and  he  very  often  made 
models  with  his  own  hands.  I was  in  constant  fear  of  the 
realization  of  these  plans,  of  which  I heard  a great  deal  more 
than  I could  understand.  He  was  well  aware  of  it,  and  some- 
times stopped  short  to  say  with  a smile:  “Now,  don’t  go 
away;  I won’t  bother  you  any  longer  with  boats.”  Unable 
to  resist  the  temptation  of  devising  improvements,  even  when 
he  resisted  that  of  testing  them  for  his  own  use,  he  gave  the 
benefit  of  his  thoughts  to  his  friends  when  they  seemed  likely 
to  prove  useful.  In  the  course  of  the  spring,  however,  he 
had  been  at  work  planning  a much  larger  boat  than  those  he 
already  possessed;  one  which  might,  when  needful,  carry  a 
cart-load  of  goods  across  the  bay,  or  the  whole  camp  to  any 
part  of  the  lake.  I offered  some  timid  remonstrances  about 
the  probable  cost,  but  he  met  them  by  affirming  that  it  would 
be  an  economy  in  the  end , by  saving  labor.  So  two  carpen- 
ters were  fetched  from  Greenock,  and  began  to  work  under 
his  direction. 

The  building  of  the  boat,  which  of  course  took  more  time 
than  had  been  expected,  delayed  our  departure  for  France,  but 
at  last  we  set  off  to  introduce  our  baby-boy  to  his  relations. 

Once  in  Paris,  Mr.  Hamerton  saw  a great  deal  of  his  kind 
friend,  William  Wyld,  whose  advice  he  was  better  able  to 
appreciate  now  that  his  ideas  about  art  were  no  longer  topo- 
graphic. He  began  at  this  stage  of  artistic  culture  to  enjoy 
composition  and  harmony  of  color ; and  though  he  still  thought 
that  his  friend’s  compositions  were  rather  too  obviously  artifi- 
cial, he  did  not  remain  blind  to  their  merit.  He  also  saw 


264 


MEMOIR. 


more  of  Alexandre  Bixio,  brother  of  the  celebrated  Garibaldian 
general,  at  whose  house  he  met  renowned  artists,  men  of 
letters,  and  politicians.  Alexandre  Bixio  had  been  one  of  the 
founders  of  the  “ Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,  ” with  Bulwer 
Lytton.  He  had  acted  as  Vice-President  of  the  Assemblee  Ra- 
tionale, and  had  been  sent  to  the  Court  of  Victor  Emmanuel 
as  Minister  Plenipotentiary,  and  was  an  intimate  friend  of 
Cavour.  One  evening,  after  dinner  at  his  house,  he  took  Mr. 
Hamerton  aside,  and  pointing  to  a young  man  engaged  in  an 
animated  conversation  with  several  other  guests,  he  said : “ I 
am  very  much  mistaken  if  that  is  not  a future  Minister  of 
State.”  “He  looks  very  young,”  answered  my  husband,  very 
much  astonished.  “ He  is  young,  he  was  born  in  1827 ; but 
remember  his  name,  and  in  a few  years  you  will  see  if  I am 
right : it  is  Signor  Sella.”  Four  years  later  Signor  Sella  was 
Minister  of  Finance. 

As  my  husband  has  told  in  his  autobiography,  I had  a sister 
younger  than  myself  by  seven  years,  very  pretty  and  winning, 
about  whose  future  we  were  very  anxious,  on  account  of  the 
recurring  interruptions  in  her  studies,  owing  to  my  mother’s 
distressing  state  of  health.  When  periods  of  illness  came  on, 
the  whole  duty  of  attendance  upon  her  devolved  on  my  sister, 
disastrous  as  such  breaks  in  her  education  might  prove  as  the 
girl  grew  up.  During  the  intervals  of  sickness  my  mother 
yielded  to  our  entreaties,  and  Caroline  was  sent  to  school;  but 
as  a day-scholar  she  often  missed  classes  for  one  reason  or  an- 
other, being  so  often  wanted,  and  after  becoming  a boarder  she 
never  remained  in  the  same  institution  for  more  than  a few 
months  at  a time.  My  mother  kept  hoping  that  the  trouble 
would  not  return,  and  tried  to  persuade  us  that  now  Caroline’s 
studies  would  be  regular,  and  that  being  very  intelligent,  she 
would  soon  be  on  a par  with  girls  of  her  own  age ; but  this 
state  of  things  had  lasted  ever  since  I was  married,  and  I could 
not  foresee  the  end  of  it.  We  often  talked  about  it,  my  hus- 
band and  myself,  and  he  soon  guessed  that  I wished  to  have 
her  with  us,  but  that  knowing  how  much  he  liked  having  our 
home  to  ourselves  I would  not  ask  him  to  bring  another  into 
it,  even  though  it  were  my  sister.  He  was,  however,  with  his 


MEMOIR. 


265 


usual  generosity,  the  first  to  offer  it.  Aware  of  how  much  it 
cost  him  I accepted  nevertheless,  for  we  were  both  of  one 
mind,  and  considered  it  as  a duty  to  be  done.  I looked  upon 
my  sister  as  my  child,  for  my  mother’s  illness  had  begun  when 
Caroline  was  so  young  that  almost  all  motherly  cares  had  de- 
volved upon  me,  who  was  the  eldest.  We  kept  our  project 
secret  to  the  last,  not  to  disturb  the  family  peace,  and  being 
sure  of  my  father’s  acquiescence  and  of  Caroline’s  delight. 
When  the  day  came,  my  husband’s  persuasion  prevailed,  and 
my  sister  was  entrusted  to  our  care. 

This  time,  while  staying  at  “The  Jumps,”  we  noticed  a 
great  change  in  Aunt  Susan’s  behavior  towards  us;  it  was 
decidedly  friendly,  with  now  and  then  an  almost  affectionate 
touch,  and  I was  told  privately  that  she  had  thrown  out 
hints  about  the  pleasure  that  an  invitation  to  Innistrynich 
would  give  her,  so  the  invitation  was  given  before  we  left. 

My  husband  applied  to  Caroline’s  teaching  the  system  which 
had  proved  effective  with  me,  and  made  her  read  English  aloud 
to  him  whilst  he  was  painting;  I undertook  the  French  and 
musical  part  of  her  education,  and  her  progress  was  rapid.  For 
my  sake  Gilbert  was  very  glad  that  I had  Caroline  with  me, 
because  in  the  course  of  that  year  he  camped  out  a great  deal, 
and  it  had  become  impossible  for  me  to  accompany  him,  an- 
other little  boy  having  been  born  in  the  beginning  of  February, 
and  his  delicate  health  requiring  constant  care. 

Our  pecuniary  troubles  were  increasing.  The  American  war 
having  broken  out,  the  mill,  which  had  been  repaired  at  great 
cost,  was  stopped  in  consequence,  and  of  course  we  got  no  rent 
either  from  it  or  from  the  cottages,  whilst  the  expenses  of  the 
little  farm  were  heavy  — hay  being  at  an  extravagant  price, 
because  of  the  persistent  rains,  which  in  the  previous  summer 
had  rotted  all  the  cut  grass,  and  made  it  necessary  to  bring  hay 
from  England.  Although  we  kept  two  cows,  our  supply  of 
milk  and  cream  was  insufficient,  and  my  husband  made  the 
calculation  that  each  cow  consumed  daily  seven  shillings’  worth 
of  hay  in  this  spring,  though  put  on  short  rations.  In  fact, 
the  state  of  our  affairs  greatly  alarmed  us,  for  we  did  not  see  any 
prospect  of  speedy  earnings,  and  we  began  to  think  of  a total 


266 


MEMOIR. 


change  in  our  way  of  living  which  would  materially  reduce  our 
expenses.  My  husband  would  have  been  inclined  to  remove  to 
the  English  Lake  District,  but  remembered  in  time  that  it  was 
nearly  as  wet  as  the  Highlands,  and  what  he  wanted  as  a com- 
pensation, if  we  left  Scotland,  was  a dry  climate  which  would 
allow  much  more  time  for  out-of-door  work. 

It  so  happened  that  my  father,  who  was  now  Directeur  de 
rUsine  a Gaz  at  Beaucaire,  had  suffered  in  health,  catching 
frequent  colds  through  having  to  get  out  of  bed  to  look 
after  the  puddlers,  to  stand  before  the  fires  whilst  they  were 
replenished,  and  to  cross  a cold,  draughty  courtyard  in  coming 
back.  He  had  never  complained,  but  my  mother  thought  it 
extremely  dangerous,  and  wished  that  he  had  a more  healthy 
occupation. 

On  the  other  hand,  I had  diligently  applied  myself  to 
our  small  farm  and  garden,  with  the  help  of  a most  valuable 
and  simple  guide,  “ La  Maison  Bustique  des  Dames,  ” by 
Madame  Millet-Bobinet,  which  had  been  sent  to  me  as  a 
present  by  M.  Bixio,  and  I had  often  thought  that  if  my 
efforts  were  not  always  thwarted  by  the  inclemency  of  the 
weather,  I might  count  upon  a fair  return.  All  this  led  me  to 
fancy  that  if  we  were  to  buy  a farm  in  France  it  might  prove 
a profitable  investment,  and  I talked  the  project  over  with 
Gilbert.  This  is  the  conclusion  he  arrived  at.  He  would  sell 
his  property,  rent  a farm  in  France,  which  I should  manage 
with  my  father,  himself  remaining  entirely  faithful  to  his 
artistic  and  literary  studies.  If  my  mother  were  strong 
enough,  and  my  sister  willing,  they  would  have  a share  in 
the  direction,  and  even  my  brothers,  later  on,  if  it  were  to 
their  taste.  There  were  now  many  gentlemen-farmers  who 
did  not  neglect  either  their  work  on  the  land  or  their  own 
culture  — M.  and  Madame  Millet-Bobinet  might  be  cited 
as  examples. 

When  the  project  was  communicated  to  my  father,  he 
was  very  happy  at  the  idea  of  living  near  us,  and  grateful 
for  the  delicate  thoughtfulness  which  had  devised  this  means 
of  coming  to  his  help  under  pretext  of  asking  help  from  him. 
Here  is  part  of  his  answer : — 


MEMOIR. 


267 


“ Mon  cher  futur  associe,  — Ah  9a ! pensez-vous  done  que 
j’aie  tout  a fait  la  berlue  pour  n’avoir  pas  decouvert  de  prime 
abord  tout  l’insidieux  de  votre  proposition  ? II  vous  f audrait,  dites- 
vous  na'ivement,  pour  associe,  un  homme  actif,  exerce,  connaissant 
bien  les  affaires,  la  culture,  pour  exploiter  votre  ferme  et,  plus 
heureux  que  Diogene,  vous  braquez  votre  lanterne  sur  un  homme 
qui  dans  trois  ans  sera  un  quasi  vieillard,  dejk  valetudinaire 
aujourd’hui  et  sachaut  k peine  distinguer  le  seigle  du  froment! 
Oh!  l’admirable  cultivateur  module  que  vous  aurez  lk!  Soyez 
franc,  mon  cher  Gendre,  vous  avez  rumine  ce  pretexte  avec  ma 
fille  pour  m ’assurer  des  invalides  et  donner  k ma  vieillesse  un 
repos  et  un  abri  que  mon  labeur  n’a  pas  voulu  conquerir  au  prix 
de  mon  honnetete.1  Je  vous  vois  venir  et  j’ai  beau  etre  un  ane  en 
agriculture,  tout  ce  qui  reussira  me  sera  attribue ; mon  incapacity 
sera  couverte  d’un  manteau  de  prof  on  de  habilete  et  vous  me  per- 
suaderez  que,  livres  k vos  propres  lumieres,  vous  ne  feriez  rien  de 
bon,  tandis  qu’en  me  confiant  le  soc,  e’est  k moi  que  le  sillon  devra 
sa  richesse.” 

My  mother  and  my  brothers  also  wrote  warmly  and  grate- 
fully, whilst  all  the  details  of  the  project  were  discussed  at 
length  in  every  successive  letter.  My  father  inclined  for  the 
purchase  of  a farm,  but  Gilbert  was  afraid  of  a possible  confisca- 
tion of  property  in  case  of  a war  between  England  and  France. 

Meanwhile,  Aunt  Susan  had  entered  into  a regular  and 
friendly  correspondence  with  me  and  her  nephew,  and  she 
wrote  on  June  27,  1861; — 

“ My  dear  Niece,  — My  sister  and  myself  are  quite  annoyed 
to  seem  so  dilatory  in  fixing  our  time  for  visiting  you ; however, 
we  hope  (D.  V.)  to  be  with  you  on  Saturday,  the  sixth  of  July.  I 
hope  your  little  olive  branches  are  both  quite  well,  and  also  your 
sister ; we  shall  be  glad  to  renew  and  make  fresh  acquaintance 
amongst  the  young  ones.  I suppose  Philip  Gilbert  will  ere  this  be 
returned  from  his  long  camping  expedition,  and  I hope  he  has  had 
a most  satisfactory  outing.  Will  you  all  accept  our  united  love, 
and  believe  me 

“ Your  affectionate  aunt, 

“ Susan  Hamerton.” 

1 My  father  had  been  offered  a very  important  post  in  the  government 
of  Napoleon  III.,  on  condition  of  accepting  his  policy,  after  the  Coup 
d’etat. 


268 


MEMOIR. 


My  husband  was  at  home  to  receive  his  aunts,  and  pleased 
to  notice  how  amicably  we  got  on  together,  but  he  was  not  pre- 
pared for  what  took  place  shortly  before  their  departure.  One 
morning  I was  gathering  strawberries  in  the  garden,  and  it  was 
slow  work  because  they  were  very  small,  being  the  wild  species, 
which  had  been  transplanted  for  their  delicious  flavor.  Aunt 
Susan  came  up,  and  offered  to  help  me.  Never  shall  I forget 
the  scene  when  we  both  rose  from  the  strawberry -beds,  with 
our  fragrant  little  baskets  well  filled.  We  turned  towards  the 
lake,  whose  soft,  hazy  glamour  matched  that  of  the  tender  sky ; 
the  air  was  still,  and  there  reigned  a serene  silence,  as  if  a 
single  sound  might  have  desecrated  the  almost  religious  peace 
of  earth  and  heaven ; yet  a smothered  sob  was  heard  as  I felt 
myself  caught  in  a close  embrace,  my  head  laid  upon  a 
heaving  bosom,  my  hair  moist  with  warm  tears,  a broken  voice 
murmuring : “ My  child,  how  I have  wronged  you ! . . . 
and  I love  you  so — ” “Oh!  Aunt  Susan,”  I said,  “don’t 
cry;  I will  love  you  too;  my  husband  will  be  so  happy.”  We 
kissed  each  other,  and  said  no  more,  and  from  that  time  Aunt 
Susan  became  my  most  faithful  friend. 

The  farm  project  having  been  seriously  considered  by  my 
father,  he  at  last  declared  it  too  hazardous  for  him  to  under- 
take the  direction  of  it.  From  the  first  he  had  felt  unequal  to 
it,  for  want  of  the  proper  knowledge  and  preparation;  and  so 
much  would  depend  upon  its  success  — the  future  of  two 
families.  But  having  had  formerly  a long  experience  in  the 
wine  trade,  and  being  a particularly  reliable  authority  on  the 
qualities  and  values  of  Burgundy  wines  (he  was  able  to  name 
the  cru  — that  is,  the  place  where  the  grapes  were  cultivated 
— of  any  wine  he  tasted,  as  well  as  the  cuvee , namely  the  year 
in  which  it  had  been  made)  ; and  having  been  in  his  youth  the 
representative  of  an  important  wine  firm  in  Burgundy,  he  was 
more  inclined  to  undertake  the  management  of  a wine  business 
than  anything  else.  He  said  so  to  my  husband,  adding  that 
the  relatives  and  acquaintances  we  had  in  England  might  form 
the  beginning  of  a good  connection,  and  that  his  own  name  as 
head  of  the  firm  would  secure  a good  many  customers  both  in 
France  and  Belgium.  His  son-in-law  was  soon  convinced  of 


MEMOIR. 


269 


the  wisdom  of  these  reasons,  and  it  was  decided  that  towards 
the  end  of  the  year  we  would  go  to  France  to  choose  a new 
residence,  suited  to  the  requirements  of  the  wine  business,  and 
situated  in  a part  sufficiently  picturesque  to  lend  itself  to 
artistic  representation.  It  was  stipulated  that  the  name  of 
Hamerton  should  not  be  used ; the  title  of  the  firm  was  to  he 
“ G-indriez  et  Cie.,  ” my  husband  being  sleeping  partner  only. 


270 


MEMOIR. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

1861-1863. 

Effects  of  the  Highland  climate.  — Farewell  to  Loch  Awe. — Journey  to 
the  South  of  France.  — Death  of  Miss  Mary  Hamerton. — Settlement 
at  Sens.  — Death  of  M.  Gindriez.  — Publication  of  the  “ Painter’s 
Camp.”  — Removal  to  Pre-Charmoy. 

Vert  few  people  can  stand  the  climate  of  the  Highlands 
without  suffering  from  it;  it  is  so  damp  and  so  depressing  in 
winter-time,  when  the  wind  howls  so  piteously  in  the  twisted 
branches  of  the  Scotch  firs,  and  when  the  rain  imprisons  one 
for  weeks  within  liquid  walls  of  unrelieved  grayness.  Mr. 
Hamerton,  since  he  came  to  Innistrynich,  had  repeatedly 
suffered  from  what  he  believed  to  be  toothache,  although  his 
teeth  were  all  perfectly  sound,  and  the  pain  being  always  at- 
tended by  insomnia,  was  a cause  of  weakness  and  fatigue 
detrimental  to  his  general  health.  The  doctor  said  it  was 
congestion  of  the  gums,  due  to  the  excess  of  moisture  in  the 
climate,  which  had  not  been  favorable  to  either  of  us ; for  I had 
also  discovered  that  my  hearing  was  becoming  impaired,  and 
these  were  weighty  additional  reasons  for  removing  elsewhere. 
I had  been  somewhat  anxious  at  times,  when  I saw  him  fall  sud- 
denly into  a state  of  listlessness  and  prostration,  but  as  he  always 
recovered  his  energy  and  resumed  his  usual  avocations  after  a 
short  sleep,  I thought  it  must  be  the  result  of  temporary  ex- 
haustion, for  which  nature  kindly  sent  the  best  remedy  — 
restoring  sleep ; and  as  he  had  told  me  he  had  always  experi- 
enced the  greatest  difficulty  in  getting  to  sleep  before  midnight 
or  at  regular  hours,  and  especially  in  getting  a sufficiency  of 
sleep  in  the  course  of  the  night,  it  seemed  a natural  compensa- 
tion for  the  system  that  an  occasional  nap  should  now  and  then 
become  irrepressible,  — the  more  so  on  account  of  his  customary 
nocturnal  rides,  sails,  or  walks.  To  the  end  of  his  life  the  hours 
of  the  night  seemed  to  him  quite  as  fit  for  any  sort  of  occupa- 
tion as  those  of  the  day,  and  it  made  little  difference  to  him 


MEMOIR. 


271 


whether  it  was  dark  or  light;  indeed  at  one  time,  years  later, 
when  at  Pre-Charmoy,  he  began,  to  the  stupefaction  of  his 
country  neighbors,  to  call  upon  them  at  nine  or  ten  in  the  sum- 
mer evenings,  and  then  to  propose  a row  on  the  pond  or  a 
walk  by  moonlight;  hut  it  happened  not  unfrequently  that 
he  could  get  no  admittance,  rural  habits  having  sent  the  in- 
habitants to  their  early  beds;  or  else  if  they  were  still  found  in 
a state  of  wakefulness,  they  did  not  evince  the  slightest  desire 
to  be  out  with  a noctambule , and  even  hinted  that  it  might 
look  objectionable  and  vagabondish  in  case  they  were  seen. 
He  was  greatly  astonished  at  this  new  point  of  view ; for  it  was 
merely  to  spare  the  working  hours  of  the  day  that  he  took  his 
relaxation  in  the  night. 

A good  many  more  pictures  had  been  painted  in  the  course 
of  the  year,  and  had  suggested  many  “ Thoughts  about  Art,  ” 
which  had  been  duly  consigned  to  the  manuscript  of  the 
" Painter’s  Camp.”  Aunt  Mary,  who  was  kept  aw  courant , 
wrote : “ How  can  you,  dear  Philip  Gilbert,  find  time  to 
paint  so  much,  and  to  write  so  much 1 ” It  was  now  necessary 
to  be  more  industrious  than  ever,  in  order  to  have  a sufficient 
number  of  works  to  cover  the  walls  of  the  exhibition  room,  the 
project  being  near  its  realization  and  matured  in  all  its  details. 
My  husband  was  to  take  me,  our  children,  and  Caroline  to  my 
parents  at  Beaucaire,  and  leave  us  there  while  he  went  in  search 
of  a house,  then  back  again  to  the  Highlands  for  the  removal,  and 
before  joining  me  again  he  was  to  organize  the  exhibition  in  Lon- 
don with  the  help  of  Thursday,  and  leave  him  in  charge  of  it. 

About  the  middle  of  October,  1861,  we  started  for  our  long 
journey  southwards,  with  mingled  feelings  of  deep  regret  for 
what  we  left  behind, — the  country  we  still  loved  so  much,  the 
associations  with  the  births  of  our  children  and  the  laborious 
and  hopeful  beginnings  of  an  artistic  and  literary  career,  as 
well  as  the  tender  memories  of  the  growth  of  our  union,  which 
solitude  had  tested  and  strengthened  and  made  so  perfect  and 
complete;  then  if  we  looked  forward,  it  was  with  joyful  feel- 
ings for  the  lasting  reunion  of  the  family,  for  the  peace  and 
happiness  we  were  going  to  give  to  my  father’s  old  age,  and 
also  for  future  success  and  easier  circumstances. 


272 


MEMOIR. 


We  stopped  at  Todmorden  to  say  farewell  to  our  relations, 
and  also  paid  farewell  visits  to  some  friends,  amongst  them 
Mrs.  Butler  and  her  husband  — Mr.  Hamerton’s  Burnley 
schoolmaster;  to  Mr.  Handsley,  for  whom  he  had  as  much  es- 
teem as  affection,  and  to  his  half -cousins  Abram  and  Henry 
Milne,  who  had  agreed  to  purchase  his  property,  and  had  given 
him  a commission  for  the  two  pictures  already  spoken  of  at 
Loch  Awe,  and  destined  for  the  billiard-room,  which  had  been 
built  in  the  meantime,  and  was  now  used  daily. 

On  arriving  at  Beaucaire,  we  found  my  mother  in  much 
better  health  than  formerly,  but  my  father  looked  aged,  we 
thought;  however,  he  was  much  cheered  by  our  prospects,  and 
entered  heartily  into  every  detail  concerning  them. 

My  husband  had  not  much  time  to  spare,  and  he  made  the 
most  of  it ; together  we  saw  Arles,  Nimes,  the  Pont  du  Gard, 
and  Montmajour,  and  called  upon  Bourn ieu,  the  Provengal 
poet,  to  whom  we  were  introduced  by  friends.  We  used  to 
roam  along  the  shores  of  the  Bhone  in  the  twilight,  the  noble 
river  affording  us  a perpetual  source  of  admiration,  and  one 
evening,  when  we  were  bending  over  one  of  its  bridges  looking 
at  the  swollen  and  tumultuous  waves  after  a storm,  we  became 
spellbound  by  the  tones  of  a superb  voice,  coming  as  it  seemed 
from  the  sky,  and  singing  with  happy  ease  and  unconcern,  one 
after  the  other,  some  of  the  most  difficult  parts  in  the  opera  of 
“ William  Tell.”  We  dared  not  speak  for  fear  of  losing  a few 
notes,  for  the  rich,  full  voice  hardly  paused  between  two  songs, 
never  betraying  the  slightest  effort  or  fatigue;  half-an-hour 
later  it  ceased  altogether,  and  we  went  to  my  father’s  full 
of  our  discovery. 

“Oh!  it ’s  Villaret  of  the  brewery;  yes,  a splendid  tenor, 
but  he  has  long  been  discovered;  only  he  has  no  musical  edu- 
cation, and  his  relatives  won’t  hear  of  his  going  on  the  stage. 
Alexandre  Dumas,  after  listening  to  him,  offered  to  pay  all 
necessary  expenses  to  enable  him  to  attend  the  Conservatoire, 
but  it  was  of  no  use : they  are  very  religious  in  the  family, 
and  have  an  insurmountable  horror  of  theatres.  He  is,  him- 
self, a very  simple,  good-natured  fellow,  and  does  not  require 
much  pressing  to  sing  whenever  he  is  asked.  I know  some 


MEMOIR. 


273 


of  his  friends,  and  the  lady  organist  of  the  church  particu- 
larly; and  if  you  wish  to  hear  him  at  her  house,  I dare  say 
she  would  give  a soiree  to  that  end.” 

Two  days  later  we  were  invited  by  the  lady  to  meet  him, 
and  with  evident  pleasure,  but  without  vanity , he  sang  several 
pieces,  with  very  great  power  and  feeling.  At  last,  when  the 
company  were  leaving,  the  lady  of  the  house  took  Gilbert 
aside  to  beg  him  to  remain  a little  longer  with  Villaret,  and 
when  everybody  else  had  left,  she  said:  “Now,  Monsieur 
Villaret,  I count  upon  the  pleasure  of  listening  to  my  favorite 
piece  in  ‘ La  Muette  de  Portici.’  I am  going  to  play  the 
accompaniment.”  “I  would  if  I could,  to  oblige  you,”  he 
answered ; “ but  you  are  aware  of  my  weakness.  I never 
can  do  justice  to  it,  because  I can’t  master  my  emotion.” 
“Never  mind;  you  must  fancy  we  are  alone  together.  Mr. 
Hamerton  and  his  wife  will  remain  at  the  other  end  of  the 
salon,  behind  your  back ; and  what  then  if  you  break  down  1 
. . . no  one  will  be  any  the  worse  for  it.”  She  sat  down 
and  began  the  accompaniment  of  that  most  exquisitely  tender 
song,— 


“ De  ton  coeur  bannis  les  alarmes, 

Qu’un  songe  heureux  seche  les  larmes 
Qui  coulent  encore  de  tes  yeux.” 

The  words  were  hardly  audible;  but  we  were  so  moved  by 
the  marvellous  purity  of  the  pathetic  voice  that  tears  stood 
in  our  eyes.  As  for  the  singer,  tears  rolled  down  his  face. 
It  was  one  of  those  rare  and  perfect  pleasures  that  are  never 
forgotten.  A few  years  later  Villaret  made  his  debut  as  first 
tenor  at  the  Opera  in  Paris  with  great  success.  He  was  very 
generous  with  tickets  to  his  early  friends  and  fellow-citizens; 
some  of  his  most  intolerant  relatives  had  died,  and  he  had 
yielded  at  last  to  the  general  wish. 

Now  came  for  my  husband  and  myself  the  longest  separa- 
tion in  our  married  life.  It  lasted  two  months,  and  seemed 
at  least  two  years,  so  sad  and  wearied  did  we  grow.  He 
wrote  every  night  succinctly  what  had  been  done  in  the 
course  of  the  day,  and  sent  me  his  letters  three  times  a week. 

18 


274 


MEMOIR. 


When  beds  had  been  packed  up  or  sold,  our  kind  neighbors, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Whitney,  offered  him  hospitality,  which  he 
gratefully  accepted,  till  everything  was  cleared  out  of  Innis- 
trynich  and  on  its  way  to  Sens,  in  the  department  of  the 
Yonne,  where  our  new  residence  was  to  be. 

On  his  way  to  Sens,  Gilbert  stayed  a few  days  with  his 
aunts,  but  left  them  for  a short  time,  and  concluded  the  sale 
of  his  property  to  Henry  Milne.  It  was  but  a poor  bargain, 
the  times  being  bad  for  the  cotton  district  on  account  of  the 
American  war ; but  he  had  no  alternative,  having  engaged  to 
find  capital  for  the  wine  business,  and  even  needing  money 
for  daily  expenses,  for  as  yet  he  earned  nothing. 

What  he  had  been  in  dread  of  for  so  many  years,  on  aecount 
of  his  Aunt  Mary’s  state  of  health,  happened  just  as  he  was 
returning  to  “The  Jumps,”  and  when  he  saw  his  uncle 
Thomas  awaiting  him  at  the  station  he  had  a foreboding  of 
the  truth.  “Aunt  Mary  is  dead?”  . . . “Not  dead  yet, 
but  unconscious,  and  there  is  no  hope.  This  morning  when 
Susan  was  in  the  breakfast-room,  waiting  for  her  sister,  she 
heard  a stamping  overhead,  followed  by  a dull,  heavy  thud, 
and  on  rushing  upstairs  found  Mary  stretched  on  the  floor 
and  moaning,  but  unconscious.  She  has  been  put  to  bed  and 
attended  by  doctors;  but  there  is  nothing  to  be  done,  and 
they  say  that  she  does  not  suffer.”  Mournfully  my  husband 
ascended  alone,  in  the  dark  night,  the  steep  hill  up  which 
he  had  so  often  walked  gayly  to  see  his  beloved  guardian; 
tenderly  he  watched  at  her  bedside  for  forty-eight  hours,  till 
she  breathed  no  more,  and  at  last  reverently  accompanied  her 
remains  to  the  chosen  place,  which  he  never  omitted  to  visit 
afterwards,  every  time  he  came  to  Todmorden.  He  wrote  to 
say  what  a satisfaction  it  was  to  think  that  his  aunt  had  seen 
him  only  a few  hours  before  the  attack,  and  when  it  came  she 
must  have  felt  him  so  near  to  her. 

I remember  an  incident  which  took  place  on  the  day  we 
took  leave  of  Aunt  Mary  to  go  to  Innistrynich ; she  had 
invited  two  of  her  nieces  to  lunch  with  us  at  “ The  Jumps.” 
When  we  left  the  house,  some  time  in  the  afternoon,  I went 
first  with  my  cousins,  leaving  nephew  and  aunt  together  for 


MEMOIR. 


275 


more  intimate  communing,  and  when  my  husband  reached 
us,  his  eyes  were  still  moist  and  his  voice  tremulous.  The 
girls  thoughtlessly  teased  him  about  it,  and  twitted  him  with 
his  weakness;  but  he  did  not  allow  them  to  amuse  themselves 
long,  he  cowed  them  with  a violence  of  contempt  which 
terrified  me,  whilst  I could  not  help  admiring  it.  “Yes,” 
he  said,  “ I have  shed  tears  — not  unmanly  tears  — and  if 
you  are  not  capable  of  entering  into  the  feelings  of  grateful 
love  and  regret  which  wring  these  tears  out  of  my  heart,  I 
despise  you  for  your  heartlessness.  ” His  voice  had  recovered 
its  firmness  and  rang  loud,  his  eyes  shot  flames,  he  looked 
more  than  human.  These  startling  outbursts  of  generous  or 
honest  passion  were  one  of  his  most  marked  characteristics; 
they  occurred  but  rarely,  but  when  they  did  occur  nothing 
could  abate  their  terrific  violence;  a single  word  in  mitiga- 
tion would  have  acted  like  oil  on  the  flames.  It  must  be 
explained  that  they  were  always  justified  by  the  cause,  and  it 
was  impossible  not  to  admire  such  genuine  and  high-minded 
resentment  against  meanness  or  dishonesty,  or  in  some  cases 
against  what  he  considered  insulting  to  his  sense  of  honor. 
For  instance,  on  one  occasion  a very  important  sale  of  works  of 
art  was  to  take  place  abroad,  and  he  was  asked  to  contribute 
some  notes  to  the  catalogue.  It  was  hinted  — clearly  enough 
— that  any  words  of  praise  would  be  handsomely  acknowl- 
edged. He  resented  the  offer  like  a blow  on  the  face,  blushed 
crimson  with  ardent  indignation,  and  almost  staggered  to  the 
writing-table;  there  he  seized  a postcard,  and  in  large,  clear, 
print-like  letters  threw  back  the  insult  with  cutting  contempt. 
The  sense  of  having  cleared  his  honor  somewhat  relieved 
him,  and  after  waiting  for  a propitious  moment  I tried  to 
persuade  him,  before  the  card  was  posted,  that  the  offence 
was  not  so  heinous  as  it  looked,  the  writer  not  knowing  him 
personally,  and  merely  imagining  himself  to  be  acting  in 
conformity  with  a prevalent  custom,  which  some  critics  were 
far  from  resenting.  All  I could  obtain,  however,  was  an 
envelope  for  the  terrible  postcard. 

Now  to  resume  the  narrative.  I left  Beaucaire  to  join  my 
husband  at  Havre  on  his  return,  and  after  visiting  the  town 


276 


MEMOIR. 


together  we  hastened  to  our  new  house  at  Sens,  which  I 
longed  to  see,  for  it  had  been  chosen  in  my  absence,  and 
though  I had  received  minute  descriptions  of  it,  I was  not 
able  to  realize  its  appearance  or  surroundings.  It  was  one  of 
the  large,  roomy  maisons  bourgeoises , so  numerous  in  French 
provincial  towns  at  that  time,  built  for  the  convenience  of 
the  owner,  and  not  in  order  to  be  let  as  an  investment.  It 
was  perfectly  suitable  for  the  double  purpose  Gilbert  had  in 
view  — with  a spacious  carriage  entrance,  courtyard,  cellars, 
barns,  and  stable  for  the  wine  trade,  and  large,  commodious, 
well-lighted  rooms  for  residence.  But  to  my  regret  there  was 
no  garden,  — a great  privation  for  me;  however,  my  husband 
told  me  that  our  landlord  had  promised  to  make  one  if  I cared 
so  much  for  it.  I did  care  very  much,  as  the  only  view  from 
the  house  was  that  of  other  houses  and  walls  on  the  other  side 
of  the  street;  but  when  asked  to  fulfil  his  promise,  the  land- 
lord said  it  was  a misunderstanding,  he  had  merely  given 
leave  for  us  to  make  a garden  in  the  courtyard  if  we  liked,  or 
else  he  would  let  us  have  one  for  a moderate  rent,  outside  of 
the  town,  a common  habit  at  Sens.  However,  as  I did  not 
appreciate  the  pleasure  of  an  hour’s  walk  every  time  I wished 
to  smell  a flower  in  my  garden,  we  declined  the  offer,  and  my 
husband  kindly  planned  a narrow  flower-bed  all  along  the 
base  of  the  walls  in  the  courtyard,  which  looked  gay  enough 
when  the  plants  were  in  full  bloom,  and  the  walls  were 
hidden  by  convolvulus,  nasturtiums,  and  Virginia  creepers. 

Even  before  the  house  was  furnished  and  in  order,  Gilbert 
was  eager  to  begin  his  commission  pictures ; but  he  soon  found 
that  even  our  large  rooms  were  too  small  for  a studio,  and  the 
light  was  not  good  for  painting;  but  at  the  same  time,  I 
believe  he  was  not  really  sorry,  because  it  gave  him  a plausi- 
ble excuse  for  turning  one  of  the  barns  into  a capital  studio. 

This  outbuilding  offered  great  and  tempting  advantages;  it 
was  isolated  from  the  house,  therefore  silent  and  private;  it 
might  be  lighted  from  the  north,  and  was  sufficiently  spacious 
to  allow  a part  to  be  divided  off  for  a laboratory.  Being 
greatly  interested  in  architecture  and  building,  my  husband 
derived  great  pleasure  from  the  execution  of  his  own  plans, 


MEMOIR. 


277 


even  in  such  a small  matter.  I vainly  attempted  to  reconcile 
him  to  the  idea  of  using  one  of  the  large  rooms,  standing  in 
fear  of  the  expense ; but  I could  not  help  admitting  that  with 
his  propensity  for  large  canvases,  which  I deprecated  all  my 
life,  a studio  was  indispensable;  and,  after  all,  as  it  seemed 
almost  certain  that  we  should  stay  there  a great  many  years, 
it  was  not  of  much  importance,  especially  after  having  lived 
in  terror  of  seeing  him  undertake  the  building  of  a tower,  or 
the  restoration  of  an  old  castle  like  Kilchurn,  — a dream  that 
he  often  indulged,  as  numerous  designs  bore  testimony. 

The  first  thing  considered  by  Gilbert  when  he  settled  at 
Sens  was  the  choice  of  subjects  for  his  commission  pictures, 
which  he  intended  to  paint  directly  from  nature ; and  he  soon 
selected  panoramic  landscape  views  from  the  top  of  a small 
vine-clad  hill,  called  St.  Bon,  which  commands  an  exten- 
sive prospect  of  the  river  Yonne,  and  of  the  plains  about  it. 
On  the  summit  of  this  eminence  there  is  a kiosk  belonging 
to  the  archbishop,  who  readily  granted  the  use  of  it  to  the 
artist  for  sheltering  his  pictures,  brushes,  colors,  etc.  But 
the  artist  was  not  one  who  could  bear  confinement,  and  the 
kiosk  was  hut  a tiny  affair,  and  not  movable,  so  two  of  the 
tents  were  set  up  at  its  foot,  and  formed  a painter’s  camp, 
which  attracted  so  many  curious  visitors  that  it  was  thought 
unsafe  to  leave  it  at  their  mercy ; and  when  Gilbert  went  back 
home  for  the  night  a watchman,  well  armed  with  pistols  and 
a gun,  took  his  place.  Every  day,  when  the  great  summer 
heat  had  abated,  I used  to  set  off  with  the  children  to  go  and 
meet  my  husband  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  we  returned 
together  to  the  house,  attempting  on  the  way  to  make  the 
hoys  speak  English,  but  without  success,  for  the  eldest,  wlio 
spoke  nothing  hut  English  when  I had  left  him  two  months 
before  at  Beaucaire,  now  chose  to  gabble  in  Proven§al,  which 
he  had  picked  up  from  his  nurse,  regardless  of  his  Aunt 
Caroline’s  efforts  to  make  him  talk  in  his  native  tongue. 
Subsequently,  when  he  perceived  that  no  one  understood 
him,  he  quickly  dropped  his  Provencal  and  replaced  it  by 
French,  but  would  not  trouble  himself  to  speak  two  different 
languages  together. 


278 


MEMOIR. 


By  the  care  and  thoughtfulness  of  Gilbert,  a pretty  little 
house  and  garden  had  been  prepared  for  his  father-in-law  and 
family,  at  a short  distance  from  our  own  dwelling,  where  the 
office  of  the  business  was  now  ready  on  the  ground-floor,  com- 
pletely fitted  up,  and  separated  from  the  private  dwelling. 

My  mother  had  come  first  with  my  brothers  and  sister, 
whilst  my  father  remained  a little  longer  to  put  his  successor 
au  courant.  But  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  delay  was  longer 
than  we  had  foreseen,  and  I began  to  grow  anxious  on  account 
of  my  letters  remaining  unanswered ; then  I was  told  that  my 
father  was  very  busy,  not  very  well,  and  that  he  could  not 
write.  About  a month  later  he  wrote  that  he  was  now  well 
enough  to  undertake  the  journey,  and  with  great  rejoicings 
we  prepared  to  receive  him ; but  when  I noticed  how  altered 
he  was,  how  thin,  how  weak,  all  my  joy  forsook  me,  and  it 
was  almost  beyond  my  power  not  to  let  him  read  it  in  my 
face.  Courageous  as  ever,  he  tried  to  be  and  to  look  happy, 
and  talked  of  setting  to  work  immediately.  I learned  now 
that  he  had  been  dangerously  ill,  but  that  his  malady  had 
been  kept  secret  to  spare  me. 

A few  trying  months  followed,  during  which  we  passed 
alternately  from  hope  to  fear,  the  most  distressing  feature  of 
this  sorrowful  time  being  my  poor  father’s  desperate  struggle 
for  life.  “I  must  and  I will  live  to  work;  it  is  my  duty 
to  get  well ; I have  a heavy  debt  and  responsibility  now  that 
you  are  involved  in  this  business,”  he  used  to  say  to  his 
son-in-law.  He  had  the  greatest  confidence  in  his  friend, 
Alphonse  Guerin,  the  celebrated  discoverer  of  the  antiseptic 
method  of  dressing  wounds,  and  thought  that  if  any  one  could 
cure  him  it  was  A.  Guerin,  who  had  prescribed  for  him 
throughout  his  life  in  Paris.  Accordingly  to  Paris  he  went, 
and  died  there  shortly  after,  notwithstanding  the  devoted  care 
of  his  doctor. 

Everything  seemed  to  turn  against  my  husband’s  wisest 
plans,  but  nothing  daunted  by  this  last  fearful  blow,  he  at 
once  offered  his  mother-in-law  a pension  sufficient  to  enable 
her  children  to  carry  on  their  education;  this  pension  would 
gradually  be  diminished  as  the  children  became  able  to  earn 


MEMOIR. 


279 


money  for  themselves  and  to  take  their  share  in  the  mainte- 
nance of  their  mother.  The  fact  was,  that  from  that  time  he 
had  two  families  to  keep. 

Besides  the  studies  at  St.  Bon,  he  had  begun  two  pictures  of 
large  dimensions  in  his  studio,  and  worked  at  them  steadily. 
As  he  could  not  sit  down,  this  excess  of  fatigue  brought  on  a 
very  serious  illness,  which  kept  him  in  bed  for  nearly  a fort- 
night, and  it  was  the  only  instance  of  his  submission  to  such 
an  order  from  a physician  during  the  whole  course  of  our 
married  life,  but  it  was  rendered  imperative  by  the  nature  of 
the  disorder.  He  hated  remaining  in  bed  when  awake,  at  all 
times,  and  he  could  not  stand  it  at  all  in  the  hours  of  day ; 
later  on  he  had  the  measles,  and  still  later  he  suffered  from 
gout,  hut  he  would  not  stay  in  bed  in  either  case,  and  during 
the  first  attack  of  gout,  which  was  as  severe  as  unexpected,  he 
remained  for  twenty-one  nights  without  going  to  bed. 

This  illness  prevented  him  from  attending  the  marriage  of 
his  eldest  cousin  Anne  Hamerton,  about  which  her  sister 
wrote  on  July  22,  1862,  that  it  was  to  take  place  on  August 
6,  and  after  giving  a good  many  details  she  observed:  “You 
may  he  above  such  vanities,  hut  I think  Eugenie  may  be  a 
little  interested;  poor  Eugenie,  how  anxious  she  must  have 
been,  having  you  in  your  room  so  long!  How  are  your  pic- 
tures progressing  1 It  must  decidedly  be  a punishment  to  you 
to  he  limited  to  time  at  your  easel,  particularly  now,  when 
you  must  feel  so  wishful  to  get  on  with  your  commissions.  ” 

After  his  recovery,  my  husband  arranged  his  work  in  a 
manner  which  divided  the  hours  into  sitting  ones  and  stand- 
ing ones,  to  avoid  a return  of  the  late  inflammatory  symp- 
toms; and  there  never  was  a recurrence  of  them. 

The  pictures  were  in  a fairly  advanced  stage  when  Mr. 
William  Wyld  came  on  a visit  of  a few  days  and  gave  him 
valuable  advice  about  them.  His  Aunt  Susan  said  in  a sub- 
sequent letter:  “I  am  very  glad  Mr.  Wyld  has  been  to  see 
your  pictures,  and  though  you  may  be  a little  dissatisfied  that 
your  present  works  will  be  ‘ dirt  cheap,’  still  the  cheering 
opinion  of  them  will  give  you  great  courage,  I hope.  I shall 
certainly  go  to  see  them  as  soon  as  they  get  to  Agnew’s.” 


280 


MEMOIR. 


So  much  for  the  art  department.  For  the  literary  one  the 
“ Painter’s  Camp  ” had  been  accepted  by  Mr.  Macmillan,  and 
we  were  in  a fever  of  excitement  awaiting  its  publication. 
As  to  the  wine  business,  after  remaining  irresolute  for  some 
time,  Gilbert  had  accepted  the  proposition  of  a friend  to 
assume  what  should  have  been  my  father’s  part,  — with  this 
alteration,  however,  that  he  would  pay  interest  on  the  funds 
confided  to  him,  and  share  the  clear  profits  with  the  sleeping 
partner. 

This  episode  in  my  husband’s  life  was  so  bitter,  and 
involved  him  in  such  difficulties,  that  I will  cut  it  short. 
Suffice  it  to  say,  that  though  the  partnership  was  continued 
for  a few  years,  during  which  the  interest  of  the  money  came 
hut  irregularly,  the  capital  was  entirely  and  irremediably  lost 
in  the  end. 

When  autumn  came,  the  commission  pictures  were  sent 
to  Manchester  for  exhibition,  and  shortly  after  Mr.  Milne 
declined  to  accept  them,  on  the  plea  that  he  did  not  care  for 
the  subjects:  the  real  reason  being  that  his  sensitive  heart 
had  been  again  impressed  — this  time  by  a young  governess, 
of  whom  he  had  bought  two  copies  after  Greuze,  which  were 
now  occupying  the  place  formerly  destined  for  his  cousin’s 
works.  However,  another  friend  soon  became  their  purchaser, 
but  for  the  artist  the  disappointment  remained. 

Sadness  for  the  loss  of  his  aunt,  Mrs.  Thomas  Hamerton, 
which  happened  just  at  that  time,  and  sympathy  with  his 
uncle  in  these  trying  moments,  spoilt  the  pleasure  Gilbert 
had  anticipated  from  the  visit  to  his  relations  which  we  made 
that  year.  We  were  to  go  back  to  France  with  return  tickets; 
and  the  time  allowed  being  nearly  over,  we  went  to  take  leave 
of  our  friends  at  West  Lodge,  when  we  learned  that  Mrs. 
T.  Hamerton,  who  had  lately  been  suffering  from  an  attack 
of  gout,  had  succumbed  to  its  weakening  effects.  Regardless 
of  the  pecuniary  loss,  my  husband  immediately  expressed  his 
determination  to  stay  as  long  as  he  could  be  of  any  help  to  his 
uncle.  We  therefore  sacrificed  our  tickets,  and  went  back 
to  “The  Jumps,”  whence  he  came  down  every  day  to  spare 
his  uncle  all  the  painful  formalities  of  a funeral.  We  only 


MEMOIR. 


281 


left  when  the  run  of  ordinary  hahits  had  been  re-established 
at  West  Lodge,  hut  even  then  we  felt  that  a new  misfortune 
was  lurking  in  the  silent  house,  for  the  health  of  Jane 
Hamerton,  who  had  never  been  very  strong,  now  began  to 
disquiet  her  friends,  particularly  my  husband,  whose  affec- 
tion for  her  was  very  true  and  tender.  Aunt  Susan,  who  was 
her  devoted  hut  clear-sighted  nurse,  wrote  /to  us  in  the  course 
of  the  summer  that  her  case  was  very  serious,  notwithstand- 
ing the  short  periods  of  improvement  occurring  at  intervals. 
The  poor  girl  had  grown  very  weak  and  lost  her  appetite; 
almost  constantly  feverish,  she  longed  for  fruit  to  refresh  her 
parched  mouth  and  quench  her  thirst.  As  soon  as  he  became 
aware  of  this  longing,  Gilbert  began  to  plan  how  he  might 
gratify  it,  and  it  appeared  easy  enough,  as  we  were  in  a land 
of  plenty;  but  the  time  required  for  the  transport  of  such 
delicacies  as  grapes  and  peaches  threatened  ominously  their 
safe  arrival.  However,  we  would  run  the  risk  to  give  a 
little  relief  to  our  dear  invalid,  and  we  would  take  the  great- 
est precautions  in  the  packing.  So  we  went  to  a fruit- 
grower, taking  with  us  a large  box  filled  with  dry  bran  and 
divided  into  compartments:  one  was  filled  with  melons, 
another  with  grapes,  the  last  with  peaches,  every  one  taken 
from  the  tree,  vine,  or  plant  with  our  own  hands,  then 
wrapped  in  tissue-paper  and  protected  all  round  with  bran. 
The  result  will  he  seen  in  the  following  letter  from  Jane:  — 

“ My  dear  Eugenie  and  P.  G.  — A thousand  thanks  for  the 
enormous  box  of  fruit,  which  arrived  here  to-day  about  noon  : it  is 
quite  a honey-fall  to  the  inhabitants  of  West  Lodge,  more  espe- 
cially to  me.  I am  very  happy  to  tell  you  that  the  grapes  have 
arrived  in  perfect  condition,  and  that  the  melons  seem  to  have 
suffered  only  outwardly,  as  the  one  cut  into  is  quite  luscious  and 
good.  The  sausage  ( saucisson  de  Lyon ) also  appears  to  have  borne 
the  journey  well,  but  has  not  yet  been  tasted,  so  the  next  letter 
from  Todmorden  must  give  the  opinion  upon  it,  but  it  certainly 
looks  to  me  a most  comical  affair ; and  to  tell  last  the  only  dis- 
agreeable thing,  it  is  about  the  peaches,  which  were  all  in  a dread- 
ful mess,  and  quite  mixed  up  with  the  bran  and  scarcely  fit  to 
touch,  though  Aunt  Susan  did  take  out  one  or  two  to  see  the  extent 
of  the  decay.  How  very  provoking  for  you  both  when  you  heard 


282 


MEMOIR. 


of  the  detention  at  Havre,  particularly  when  P.  G.  had  taken  such 
precautions  with  regard  to  the  outside  directions.” 

If  I have  given  such  apparently  trivial  details  at  length,  it 
was  to  show  how  generous  of  his  time  and  thought  was  my 
husband  in  everything  concerning  affection  or  pity;  his  sym- 
pathy was  always  ready  and  active,  and  he  never  begrudged 
his  exertions  to  give  relief  or  comfort  to  those  in  need  of 
either. 

It  had  been  most  fortunate  for  the  young  author  of  the 
“ Painter’s  Camp  in  the  Highlands  ” that  the  MS.  of  the 
book  happened  to  come  under  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Macmillan 
himself,  who,  being  in  want  of  rest,  and  attracted  by  the 
title,  had  taken  it  with  him  in  the  country  and  had  read  it 
with  great  delight.  Being  a Scotchman,  he  was  in  immediate 
sympathy  with  so  fervent  an  admirer  of  the  Highlands  as  my 
husband,  and  had  at  once  agreed  to  publish  the  book. 

From  the  first  it  was  a success:  the  freshness  of  the  narra- 
tive, the  novelty  of  the  subject,  the  truthfulness  and  charm 
of  the  descriptions  were  duly  appreciated,  together  with  the 
earnest  (if  still  immature)  expressions  of  the  “ Thoughts 
about  Art.”  The  book  soon  found  its  way  to  America,  where 
it  attracted  the  notice  of  Roberts  Brothers’  publishing  house. 
They  were  charmed  with  it,  and  published  an  edition  in 
America.  The  “ Painter’s  Camp  ” was  well  received  by  the 
Press  of  both  nations,  and  the  reviews  were  numerous.  It 
was  compared  to  “Robinson  Crusoe”  and  called  “unique.” 
The  author  was  very  much  amused  to  hear  that  “ Punch  ” 
had  given  an  illustrated  notice  of  it  under  the  title  of  “ A 
Painter  Scamp  in  the  Highlands.” 

This  success  — almost  unexpected  — led  my  husband  to 
accept  proposals  for  other  literary  productions,  the  most 
important  at  that  time  being  contributed  to  the  “ Fine  Arts 
Quarterly  Review,”  and  beginning  with  an  elaborate  criti- 
cism of  the  Salon  of  1863.  He  also  began  to  write  for  the 
“ Cornhill  ” and  “Macmillan’s  Magazine,”  much  against  his 
wish,  merely  because  painting  was  a source  of  expense  with- 
out a return. 


MEMOIR. 


283 


Although  my  husband  had  himself  chosen  Sens  for  his  resi- 
dence, his  choice  had  been  dictated  by  necessity,  to  a great 
extent,  rather  than  by  preference.  It  was  a combination  of 
conveniences  for  different  purposes,  but  the  kind  of  scenery 
was  so  far  from  giving  entire  satisfaction  to  his  artistic  tastes 
that  he  began  to  suffer  seriously  from  mountain  nostalgia. 
He  admired  the  river,  and  had  upon  it  a lovely  rowing-boat, 
bought  of  the  best  boat-builder  at  Asnieres,  and  he  used  it 
often,  but  without  finding  river  landscape  a compensation  for 
mountain  scenery.  In  fear  of  a serious  illness,  we  thought  it 
better  to  gratify  the  longing,  and  devised  a plan  for  a journey 
to  Switzerland  which  would  greatly  reduce  the  expense  with- 
out spoiling  the  pleasure.  It  was  this:  The  new  line  of  rail- 
way from  Neufchatel  to  Pontarlier  had  just  been  opened,  and 
passed  through  the  most  beautiful  scenery.  Gilbert  offered 
the  company  an  article  in  an  English  paper  in  return  for  two 
travelling  tickets,  for  himself  and  his  wife,  and  the  offer  was 
accepted. 

It  was  a charming  holiday.  We  stayed  a few  days  at 
Neufchatel  with  friends,  and  visited  at  our  leisure  Geneva, 
Lausanne,  Lucerne,  Bale,  and  Berne,  and  after  feasting  his 
eyes  on  Mont  Pilatus,  the  Jungfrau,  and  Mont  Blanc,  my 
husband  came  back  cured.  He  had  sometimes  spoken  of 
the  possibility  of  a removal  to  Geneva  (before  we  had  been 
there),  on  account  of  the  lake  and  Mont  Blanc;  but  I objected 
that  we  did  not  know  the  place.  To  this  objection  he  had 
a very  characteristic  answer:  “ You  don’t  know  the  place, 
but  I know  it  as  well  as  if  I had  dwelt  there,  after  reading 
so  many  descriptions  of  it,  and  being  aware  of  its  geographical 
situation.”  When  I remarked  that  it  was  quite  different 
from  what  I had  anticipated,  he  said:  “ It  is  exactly  what  I 
had  imagined.”  He  often  used  to  tell  us  that  he  had  no  need 
of  going  to  Pome,  or  Vienna,  or  to  any  other  celebrated  town, 
to  know  its  general  aspect,  for  he  had  studied  their  monu- 
ments in  detail,  the  prevailing  character  of  their  architecture, 
that  of  the  inhabitants  with  their  costumes  and  manners,  and 
he  was  even  acquainted  with  the  names  and  directions  of  the 
principal  streets. 


284 


MEMOIR. 


At  the  end  of  the  year,  our  sweet  cousin  Jane  died  with 
great  resignation,  thankful  to  be  delivered  from  her  long, 
wearying,  consumptive  pains.  Aunt  Susan  had  volunteered 
to  be  her  bed-fellow  from  the  month  of  June,  in  order  to 
move  her  gently,  and  to  support  the  poor  wasted  frame  upon 
her  own , to  relieve  the  bed-sores  by  a change  of  posture ; her 
devotion  had  been  indefatigable  and  unrelieved,  for  her  invalid 
niece  would  accept  attendance  from  no  one  else. 

This  loss  was  keenly  felt  by  my  husband,  whose  little  play- 
fellow she  had  been;  the  threatening  symptoms  of  the  disease 
had  prevented  her  coming  to  us,  together  with  her  father  and 
aunt,  as  it  was  proposed  they  should  do  in  the  summer,  and 
now  grief  did  not  allow  her  bereaved  relatives  to  entertain 
the  idea  of  a change. 

It  is  likely  enough  that  the  series  of  sorrows  and  disap- 
pointments we  had  experienced  since  we  came  to  Sens  pre- 
vented our  growing  attached  to  the  place ; it  may  be  also  that 
our  roomy  but  thoroughly  commonplace  house,  being  one  of 
a row  in  a street  devoid  of  interest,  never  answered  in  the 
least  to  our  need  of  poetry  or  even  of  privacy,  particularly 
with  our  minds  and  hearts  still  full  of  dear  Innistrynich;  but 
certain  it  is  that  we  did  not  feel  the  slightest  regret  at  the 
idea  of  leaving  it  forever;  nay,  we  even  longed  to  be  away 
from  it.  This  feeling  was  common  to  both  of  us,  yet  we 
both  refrained  from  mentioning  it  to  each  other  for  some 
time,  thinking  it  unreasonable,  till  we  came  to  discuss  it 
together,  and  to  agree  that  it  would  not  be  unreasonable  to 
exchange  a house  too  large  for  our  wants  for  a smaller  one  at 
a lower  rent,  and  a town  life  that  neither  of  us  enjoyed  for 
a simpler  mode  of  living  in  some  picturesque  country-place 
more  suitable  for  my  husband’s  artistic  taste. 

It  must  be  explained  that  our  partner  had  decided  to  take  a 
house  in  the  very  heart  of  Burgundy  to  carry  on  the  business, 
on  the  plea  that  the  name  of  the  renowned  vineyards  sur- 
rounding it,  being  on  the  address,  were  likely  to  inspire  con- 
fidence in  the  customers.  He  added  that  the  situation  would 
also  be  more  favorable  for  his  purchases,  sales,  and  business 
journeys,  and  of  course,  being  the  only  working  partner,  he 


MEMOIR. 


285 


acted  as  he  liked.  Then  what  was  the  use  now  of  those 
empty  cellars,  dreary  paved  courtyard,  and  formal  office? 
We  had  no  pleasant  associations  there,  having  made  no  friends 
on  account  of  our  mourning  — why  should  we  remain  against 
our  inclination  ? 

We  decided  to  remove  as  soon  as  we  had  discovered  some- 
thing for  which  we  might  form  a real  liking,  and  the  result 
of  our  experience  has  been  given  at  length  by  Mr.  Hamerton 
in  “ Round  my  House,  ” to  which  I refer  the  reader  for  details 
which  could  not  find  place  in  the  following  brief  account  of 
our  search. 

It  was  begun  on  the  shores  of  the  Rhone,  whose  noble 
landscape  my  husband  so  much  admired.  But  although  the 
scenery  was  very  tempting  to  an  artist,  that  was  not  the  only 
condition  to  be  considered,  and  we  were  soon  discouraged  by 
the  prevailing  dirtiness  and  slovenliness  of  the  people,  and 
by  what  we  heard  of  the  disastrous  inundations.  We  were 
also  afraid  of  our  children  catching  the  horrid  accent  of  the 
country.  So  we  thought  of  the  Saone  district,  Gilbert  being 
unable  to  bear  the  idea  of  being  at  a remote  distance  from  an 
expanse  of  water  of  some  kind. 

Here  again  the  landscape  was  appreciated,  though  for 
charms  different  from  those  of  the  Rhone.  Unluckily  we 
could  not  find  a suitable  house  in  a good  situation,  and  we 
also  learned  that  intermittent  fevers  were  very  prevalent,  on 
account  of  the  periodical  overflows  of  the  Saone. 

We  tried  after  that  the  vine-land  of  Burgundy,  where 
Gilbert  told  me  what  he  has  repeated  in  “ Round  my  House  ” : 
“ There  is  no  water,  with  its  pleasant  life  and  changefulness, 
here.”  I also  agreed  with  him  in  thinking  the  renowned 
vineyards  of  the  Cote  d’Or  most  monotonous,  except  dur- 
ing a very  short  time  indeed,  when  they  are  clothed  in  the 
splendor  of  gold  and  purple,  just  before  a cruel  night  of  frost 
strips  them  bare,  and  only  leaves  the  blackened  paisceaux 
visible,  for  more  than  six  months  at  a time.  Then  we  turned 
to  the  beautiful  valley  of  the  Doubs , and  discovered  the  very 
dwelling  of  our  dreams,  in  which  were  found  all  the  condi- 
tions that  we  thought  desirable.  However,  we  were  doomed 


286 


MEMOIR. 


to  a new  disappointment,  for  the  owner,  when  we  offered  to 
take  it,  changed  her  mind  and  coolly  declined  to  let. 

Fortunately,  some  time  later,  a friend  directed  us  to  quite 
another  region,  that  of  the  Autunois,  to  see  a very  similar 
house,  offering  about  the  same  advantages.  There  were  a few 
points  of  difference;  for  instance,  the  little  river  encircling 
the  garden  was  only  a trout-stream,  instead  of  the  broad  and 
placid  Doubs;  the  building  was  also  of  more  modest  appear- 
ance. As  compensations,  however,  there  were  picturesque 
and  extensive  views  from  every  window;  the  situation  was 
more  private,  and  the  solitude  of  the  small  wild  park  with  its 
beautiful  trees  at  once  enchanted  Gilbert.  So  we  decided  to 
take  Pre-Charmoy. 


MEMOIR. 


287 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

1863-1868. 

Canoeing  on  the  Ternin.  — Visit  of  relatives.  — Tour  in  Switzerland.  — 
Experiments  in  etching. — The  “Saturday  Review.”  — Journeys  to 
London.  — Plan  of  “Etching  and  Etchers.”  — New  friends  in  Lon- 
don. — Etchings  exhibited  at  the  Royal  Academy.  — Serious  illness 
in  London.  — George  Eliot.  — Professor  Seeley. 

Not  to  waste  his  time  in  the  work  of  removal  and  fitting 
up,  Mr.  Hamerton  remained  behind  at  Sens,  to  finish  the 
copying  of  a window  by  Jean  Cousin  in  the  cathedral  and 
some  other  drawings,  begun  to  illustrate  an  article  on  this 
artist.  We  had  all  gone  forward  to  Pre-Charmoy,  and  when 
he  arrived  there,  everything  being  already  in  order,  he  con- 
tinued his  work  without  interruption.  He  was  delighted 
with  the  unpretentious  little  house,  and  with  its  views  from 
every  window;  with  the  silent,  shady,  wild  garden,  and  its 
group  of  tall  poplars  by  the  clear,  cool,  winding  river  which 
divided  it  from  the  pastures  on  the  other  side,  and  he  often 
repeated  to  us  with  a smile,  “Pre-Charmoy  charme  moi.” 
Although  the  house  was  small,  there  were  a good  many  rooms 
in  it,  and  the  master  had  for  himself  alone  a studio  (an 
ordinary-sized  room),  a study,  and  a carpenter’s  shop  — for 
he  was  fond  of  carpentry  in  his  leisure  hours,  and  far  from 
unskilful.  He  liked  to  make  experimental  boats  with  his 
own  hands,  and  moreover  he  found  out  that  some  kind  of 
physical  exercise  was  necessary  to  him  as  a relief  from  brain- 
work,  for  if  the  weather  was  bad  and  be  took  no  exercise  he 
began  to  feel  liable  to  a sort  of  uncomfortable  giddiness.  I 
wished  him  to  consult  a doctor  about  it,  but  he  believed  that 
it  would  go  away  after  a while,  for  it  had  come  on  quite  lately 
while  painting  on  an  open  scaffolding  inside  the  cathedral  at 
Sens,  when  he  could  see  through  the  planks  and  all  round 
far  below  him,  and  this  had  produced,  at  times,  a kind  of 
vertigo. 


288 


MEMOIR. 


The  pretty  little  boat  bought  at  Asnieres  was  all  very  well 
for  the  Arroux  which  flows  by  Autun,  hut  for  the  narrow, 
shallow,  winding  Ternin  and  the  Vesure,  some  other  kind 
of  craft  had  to  be  devised,  and  paper  boats  were  built  upon 
basket-work  skeletons,  and  tried  with  more  or  less  success. 
My  eldest  brother  Charles,  who  had  finished  his  classical 
studies  and  was  now  preparing  to  become  an  architect,  used 
to  come  from  Macon  for  the  holidays,  sometimes  bringing  a 
friend  with  him,  and  together  with  Gilbert  they  went  explor- 
ing the  “Unknown  Rivers.”  They  generally  came  home 
dripping  wet,  having  abandoned  their  canoes  in  the  entangle- 
ment of  roots  and  weeds  after  a sudden  upset,  and  having  to 
go  and  fetch  them  back  with  a cart,  unless  the  shipwreck  was 
caused  by  an  unsuspected  branch  under  water,  or  by  the  swift 
rush  of  a current  catching  the  frail  concern  and  carrying  it 
away  altogether,  whilst  the  venturesome  navigator  was  gather- 
ing his  wits  on  the  pebbles  of  the  river-bed. 

Towards  the  end  of  August,  Mr.  Thomas  Hamerton  and  his 
sister  Susan  came  to  visit  us.  They  liked  the  Autunois  — 
at  least  what  they  saw  of  it — exceedingly,  but  they  suffered 
much  from  the  heat,  particularly  our  uncle,  who  had  remained 
true  to  his  youthful  style  of  dress:  high  shirt-collar  sawing  the 
ears  and  stiffened  by  a white,  starched  choker,  rolled  several 
times  about  the  neck;  black  cloth  trousers,  long  black  waist- 
coat, and  ample  riding-coat  of  the  same  color  and  material. 
He  was  also  careful  never  to  put  aside  either  flannel  under- 
garments or  woollen  socks.  Our  kind  uncle  was  a pattern 
of  propriety  in  everything,  but  the  fierce  heat  of  a French 
August  on  a plain  surrounded  by  a circle  of  hills  was  too 
much  even  for  Mr.  T.  Hamerton’ s propriety,  and  he  had  to 
beg  leave  to  remove  his  coat  and  to  sit  in  his  shirt-sleeves. 
There  was  a stone  table  under  a group  of  fine  horse-chestnuts 
in  the  garden,  not  far  from  the  little  river,  to  which  we  used 
to  resort  after  dinner  with  our  work  and  books  in  search  of 
coolness,  and  there  even  my  husband  did  his  writing.  One 
afternoon,  when  we  were  sitting  as  usual  in  this  shady  arbor, 
all  silent,  uncle  dozing  behind  the  newspaper,  and  his  nephew 
intent  on  literary  composition,  what  was  our  astonishment 


MEMOIR. 


289 


at  the  sight  of  sedate  Aunt  Susan  suddenly  jumping  upon 
the  table  and  remaining  like  a marble  statue  upon  its  stone 
pedestal,  and  quite  as  white.  We  all  looked  up,  and  uncle 
pushed  his  spectacles  high  on  his  forehead  to  have  a better 
sight  of  so  strange  an  attitude  for  his  sister  to  take.  At  last 
Aunt  Susan  pointed  to  something  gliding  away  in  the  grass, 
and  gasped:  “A  serpent!  oh,  dear,  oh,  dear,  a serpent!  ” 
Vainly  did  my  husband  try  to  calm  her  fright  by  explaining 
that  it  was  only  an  adder  going  to  seek  the  moisture  of  the 
river-bank  and  never  intending  to  attack  any  one,  that  they 
were  plentiful  and  frequently  to  be  met  with,  when  their 
first  care  was  to  pass  unnoticed ; our  poor  aunt  would  not  be 
persuaded  to  descend  from  her  pedestal  for  some  time,  and  not 
before  she  was  provided  with  a long  and  stout  stick  to  beat 
the  grass  about  her  as  she  went  back  to  the  house. 

Mr.  T.  Hamerton’s  intention,  as  well  as  his  sister’s,  was 
to  go  to  Chamouni  and  the  Mer  de  Glace,  and  to  ask  their 
nephew  to  act  as  guide.  He  was  glad  enough  to  avail  him- 
self of  the  opportunity  for  studying  mountain  scenery,  but 
felt  somewhat  disappointed  that  I declined  being  one  of  the 
party,  from  economical  motives. 

The  letters  I received  during  their  tour  bore  witness  to  a 
fervent  appreciation  of  the  landscape,  of  which  a memento 
was  desired,  and  Gilbert  undertook  to  paint  for  his  relatives 
a small  picture  of  Mont  Blanc  after  reaching  home;  mean- 
while, he  took  several  sketches  to  help  him.  As  he  was 
relating  to  me  afterwards  the  incidents  of  the  journey,  he 
remembered  a rather  amusing  one.  At  Bourg,  where  they 
had  stopped  to  see  the  church  of  Brou,  he  came  down  to  the 
dining-room  of  the  hotel  and  found  his  uncle  and  aunt  seated 
at  their  frugal  English  breakfast  of  tea  and  eggs,  which  he 
did  not  share  because  tea  did  not  agree  with  him,  but  took  up 
a newspaper  and  waited  for  the  table  d'hote. 

“ My  word ! ” exclaimed  his  uncle,  when  dejeuner  was 
over,  “ but  you  do  not  stint  yourself.  I counted  the  dishes : 
omelette,  beef-steak  and  potatoes,  cray-fish  and  trout,  roasted 
pigeons  and  salad,  cheese,  grapes,  and  biscuits,  without  men- 
tioning a full  bottle  of  wine.  Excuse  my  curiosity,  but  I 

19 


290 


MEMOIR. 


should  like  to  know  how  much  you  will  have  to  pay  for  such 

a repast  ? ” 

“Exactly  two  francs  and  fifty  centimes,”  answered  his 
nephew;  “and  I dare  say  your  tea,  toast,  butter,  and  eggs 
will  come  to  pretty  near  the  same  amount,  for  here  tea  is  an 
out-of-the-way  luxury,  and  also  you  had  a separate  table  to 
yourselves,  whilst  the  table  d'hote  is  a democratic  institution.” 

“ Then  let  us  he  democrats  as  long  as  we  remain  in  France, 
if  the  thing  does  not  imply  being  deprived  of  tea.” 

From  London,  on  her  way  back,  Aunt  Susan  wrote:  — 

“We  went  to  the  Bedford  Hotel,  Covent  Garden,  and  bespoke 
beds,  got  something  to  eat,  and  then  set  out.  Our  first  visit  was 
to  196  Piccadilly,  where  Thursday  was  glad  to  see  us,  and  where 
we  stayed  a long  time,  well  pleased  to  look  at  your  pictures.  I 
like  them  all  exceedingly,  and  could  not  decide  on  a choice ; they 
each  had  in  them  something  I liked  particularly.  When  we  had 
been  gone  away  some  time,  we  remembered  we  had  not  paid  our 
admission,  so  we  went  back ; this  afforded  us  another  looking  at 
the  pictures  and  also  a pleasing  return  of  a small  etching;  our 
choice  was  ‘Le  four  et  la  terrasse  de  Pre-Charmoy ! ’ We  were 
well  contented  with  what  we  got,  but  I did  think  the  proofs 
beautiful.” 

Mr.  Hamerton’s  strong  love  of  etching  had  now  led  him 
to  the  practice  of  it,  and  for  several  hours  every  day  he 
struggled  against  its  technical  difficulties.  Full  of  hope  and 
trust  in  a final  success,  he  turned  from  a spoilt  plate  to  a fresh 
one  without  discouragement,  always  eager  and  relentless. 
His  main  fault,  as  I thought,  was  attempting  too  much  finish 
and  effect,  and  I used  to  tell  him  so.  He  acknowledged  that 
I was  right,  and  when  taking  up  a new  plate  he  used  to  say 
playfully:  “Now  this  is  going  to  be  a good  etching;  you 
don’t  believe  it  because  you  are  a little  sceptic,  but  you  ’ll 
see  — I mean  not  to  carry  it  far.  ” Then  before  biting  he 
showed  it  me  with  “ Look  at  it  before  it  is  spoilt.  ” It  was 
rarely  spoilt  in  the  biting,  but  by  subsequent  work.  Many 
charming  proofs  I greatly  admired.  “Oh!  this  is  only  a 
sketch;  you  will  see  the  improvement  when  I have  darkened 


MEMOIR. 


291 


this  mass/’  Then  I begged  hard  that  it  should  he  left  as  it 
was,  and  I was  met  by  arguments  that  I could  not  discuss,  — 
« the  effect  was  not  true  so,  ” “ the  lights  were  too  strong,  ” 
or  “ the  darks  too  heavy ; ” " but  very  little  retouching  was 
necessary,”  and  it  ended  in  the  pretty  sketch  being  destroyed 
after  having  been  re-varnished  and  re-bitten  two  or  three 
times.  When  it  was  no  longer  shown  to  me,  I was  aware  of 
its  fate.  The  amount  of  labor  bestowed  upon  etching  by  my 
husband  was  stupendous,  as  he  had  to  seek  his  way  without 
help  or  advice.  A plate  once  begun,  he  could  not  bring  him- 
self to  leave  it  — not  even  in  the  night,  and  at  that  time  he 
always  had  one  in  hand.  Heedless  of  his  self-imposed  rules 
about  the  division  of  hours  for  literary  work  and  artistic 
work,  he  devoted  himself  almost  entirely  to  the  pursuit  of 
etching.  This  made  me  very  uneasy,  for  it  had  become 
imperative  that  he  should  make  his  work  pay.  The  tenant 
of  the  coal-mine  had  reiterated  his  decision  not  to  pay  rent 
any  longer,  and  when  threatened  with  a law-suit  answered 
that  he  would  put  it  in  Chancery.  I had  been  told  that  a 
suit  in  Chancery  might  last  over  twenty  years,  and  we  had  no 
means  to  carry  it  on.  We  were  therefore  obliged  to  abandon 
all  idea  of  redress,  and  were  left  entirely  dependent  upon  the 
earnings  of  my  husband,  which  were  derived  from  his  contri- 
butions to  the  “Fine  Arts  Quarterly  Review,”  and  to  a few 
periodicals  of  less  importance.  From  that  period  of  over- 
work and  anxiety  dates  the  nervousness  from  which  he 
suffered  so  much  throughout  his  life ; though  at  that  time  he 
believed  it  to  be  only  temporary.  He  sought  relief  in  out- 
door exercise,  especially  in  canoeing,  and  this  suggested  the 
“ Unknown  River,”  published  later,  but  based  on  the  excur- 
sions undertaken  at  that  time,  and  on  sketches  and  etchings 
done  on  the  way. 

The  picture  painted  in  remembrance  of  the  journey  in 
Switzerland  had  been  finished  and  dispatched,  and  this  is 
what  Aunt  Susan  wrote  about  it : — 

“ We  are  now  in  possession  of  our  picture,  which  we  received 
from  Agnew  yesterday  morning,  and  we  are  very  much  pleased 
with  it ; my  impression  is  that  it  is  a very  good,  well-finished 


292 


MEMOIR. 


painting : we  have  not  yet  concluded  where  to  hang  it  for  a proper 
and  good  light.  We  are  very  glad  to  hear  that  Mamzelle  Mary 
Susan  Marguerite  (as  Uncle  Thomas  called  her)  is  thriving  and 
good;  be  sure  and  give  her  a kiss  for  each  of  us.” 

Mamzelle  Mary  Susan  Marguerite  had  been  born  early  in 
the  spring,  and  to  the  general  wonder  of  the  household, 
seemed  to  have  reconciled  her  father  to  the  inevitable  cries 
and  noises  of  babyhood.  Brought  up  by  two  maiden  aunts 
in  a large,  solitary  house  in  the  country,  and  addicted  from 
early  youth  to  study,  my  husband  had  a perfect  horror  of 
noises  of  all  kinds,  and  could  not  understand  that  they  were 
unavoidable  in  some  circumstances;  he  used  to  call  out  from 
the  top  of  the  stairs  to  the  servants  below  “ to  stop  their 
noise,”  or  “ to  hold  their  tongues,”  whenever  he  overheard 
them  singing  to  the  babies  or  laughing  to  amuse  them,  and 
if  the  children’s  crying  became  audible  in  the  upper  regions, 
he  declared  that  the  house  was  not  fit  to  live  in,  still  less  to 
work  in.  One  morning  when  the  youngest  boy  was  loudly 
expressing  his  distaste  for  the  ceremonies  of  the  toilet,  his 
father  — no  less  loudly  — was  giving  vent  to  his  irritation  at 
the  disturbance,  and  calling  out  to  shut  all  the  doors;  but 
he  could  not  help  being  very  much  amused  by  the  resolute 
interference  of  the  eldest  brother  — three  years  old — who, 
crossing  his  little  fat  arms,  and  standing  his  ground  firmly, 
delivered  this  oracle:  “Papa,  babies  must  cry.”  I suppose 
he  had  heard  this  wise  sentence  from  the  nurse,  but  he  gave 
it  as  solemnly  as  if  it  were  the  result  of  his  own  reflections. 
Whether  a few  years’  experience  had  rendered  his  father  more 
patient  generally,  or  whether  he  had  become  alive  to  the 
charm  of  babyhood  — to  which  he  had  hitherto  remained 
insensible  — it  was  a fact  first  noticed  by  the  nurse  that 
“Monsieur,  quand  la  petite  criait,  voulait  savoir  ce  qu’elle 
avait,  et  la  prenait  meme  dans  ses  bras  pour  la  consoler.” 

A very  important  event  now  occurred:  Mr.  Hamerton  was 
appointed  art  critic  to  the  “ Saturday  Review,  ” where  he  suc- 
ceeded Mr.  Palgrave  at  his  recommendation.  He  did  not 
accept  the  post  with  much  pleasure,  but  it  afforded  him  the 
opportunity  of  studying  works  of  art  free  of  expense,  and  that 


MEMOIR. 


293 


was  a weighty  consideration,  besides  being  an  opening  to 
intellectual  and  artistic  intercourse  of  wbicb  be  was  greatly 
deprived  at  Pre-Charmoy. 

Tbe  visits  to  tbe  London  exhibitions  necessitated  two  or 
three  journeys  every  year,  and  we  both  suffered  from  tbe 
separations ; but  I could  bear  them  better  in  my  own  home  — 
surrounded  by  my  children,  visited  by  my  mother,  sister,  and 
brothers  — than  my  husband,  who  was  alone  amongst  strangers, 
and  who  had  to  live  in  hotels,  a thing  he  had  a great  dislike 
for.  In  order  to  make  these  separations  as  short  as  possible, 
he  travelled  at  night  by  the  most  rapid  trains ; saw  the  exhi- 
bitions in  the  day,  and  went  to  his  rooms  to  write  his  articles 
by  gas-light.  For  some  time  he  only  felt  fatigued;  afterwards 
he  b^ame  nervous;  but  he  found  compensation  in  the  society 
of  his  newly  made  friends,  and  in  the  increasing  marks  of 
recognition  he  was  now  meeting  everywhere. 

He  soon  gave  up  hotel  life,  and  took  lodgings  in  St.  John’s 
Wood,  where  he  had  many  acquaintances,  and  from  there  he 
wrote  to  me:  — 

“ I have  seen  Palgrave,  Macmillan,  Rossetti,  Woolner,  and  Mr. 
Pearce  to-day.  Palgrave  says  the  ‘ Saturday  Review  ’ ‘ is  most 
proud  to  have  me.’  Woolner  says  it  is  not  possible  to  succeed  as 
an  art  critic  more  than  I have  done ; that  Tennyson  has  been  very 
much  interested  in  my  articles,  and  has  in  consequence  urged  his 
publishers  to  employ  Dore  to  illustrate  the  “ Idylls  of  the  King.” 
They  have  offered  the  job  to  Dore,  who  has  accepted. 

“ The  best  news  is  to  come. 

“ The  ‘ Painter’s  Camp  ’ is  a success  after  all.  It  has  fully 
cleared  its  expenses,  and  Macmillan  is  willing  to  venture  on  a 
second  edition,  revised,  and  I think  he  will  let  me  illustrate  it ; 
he  only  hesitates. 

“ Macmillan  has  positively  given  me  a commission  for  a work  on 
Etching. 

“ I am  to  be  paid  whether  it  succeeds  or  not.  I cannot  tell  you 
the  exact  sum,  but  you  shall  know  it  soon. 

“ It  is  to  be  made  up  of  articles  in  different  reviews.  It  is  to  be 
a guinea  work  of  400  pages,  beautifully  got  up,  with  50  illustrative 
etchings  by  different  masters,  and  is  to  be  called  ‘Etching  and 
Etchers.’ 


294 


MEMOIR. 


“ Macmillan  said  that  as  to  my  capacity  as  a writer  there  existed 
no  doubt  on  the  subject.  He  fully  expects  this  work  on  Etching 
to  be  a success.  It  is  to  be  out  for  Christmas  next. 

“Macmillan  is  most  favorably  disposed  to  undertake  other 
works,  on  condition  that  each  shall  have  a special  character  like 
that.  One  on  ‘ Painting  in  France  ’ and  another  on  ‘ Painting 
in  England’  looms  in  the  future.  He  prefers  this  plan  to  the 
Year-book  I mentioned  to  you. 

“ The  great  news  in  this  letter  is  that  I have  written  a book 
which  has  paid  its  expenses.  Is  not  that  jolly?  The  idea  of  a 
second  edition  quite  elates  me.  So  you  see,  darling,  things  are 
rather  cheering.  I must  say,  everybody  receives  me  pleasantly. 
Woodward  is  going  to  give  me  a whole  day  at  Windsor.  Beres- 
ford-Hope  is  out  of  town,  but  called  to-day  at  Cook’s  and  said  ‘ he 
was  most  anxious  to  see  me.’  ” 

My  husband  wrote  to  me  sometimes  in  French  and  some- 
times in  English;  when  my  mother  came  to  keep  me  company 
during  his  absence,  he  generally  wrote  in  French,  to  enable  me 
to  read  aloud  some  passages  of  his  letters  that  she  might  find 
interesting.  The  following  letter  was  written  on  his  first  jour- 
ney to  London  for  the  “ Saturday  Review  ” : — 

“Chere  petite  femme,  — Me  voici  installe  dans  un  fort  joli 
appartement  tout  pres  de  chez  Mr.  Mackay,  k une  guinee  par 
semaine ; j’y  suis  tout-k-fait  bien. 

“ Samedi  dernier  je  suis  alle  d’abord  chez  Mr.  Stephen  Pearce 
que  j’ai  trouve  chez  lui ; c’est  un  homme  parfaitement  comme  il 
faut ; il  m’a  re9u  bien  cordialement  et  il  m’a  invite  k diner  demain. 
J’ai  dine  chez  Mrs.  Leslie  hier  et  j’ai  passe  tout  le  tantot  d’au- 
jourd’hui  chez  Lewes  qui  habite  une  fort  belle  maison  k cinq 
minutes  d’ici.  J’ai  beaucoup  cause  avec  l’auteur  de  ‘ Romola ; ’ 
c’est  une  femme  de  45  ans,  pas  belle  du  tout,  mais  tr£s  distinguee, 
elle  m’a  fort  bien  re9u.  Lewes  lui-meme  est  laid,  mais  tr&s  cordial. 
Voilk  quelque  chose  comme  sa  physionomie.  [Sketch  of  Lewes]. 
Je  vais  te  donner  George  Eliot  sur  l’autre  page.  Il  est  tres  gentil 
avec  elle.  [Sketch  of  George  Eliot.]  Ce  portrait  n’est  pas  tres 
ressemblant,  mais  il  donne  une  bonne  idee  de  l’expression  — elle 
en  a enormement  et  parle  fort  bien.  Son  salon  est  un  module  de 
g6ut  et  d’elegance,  et  toute  sa  maison  est  aussi  bien  tenue  que  celle 
de  Millais,  par  exemple.  Nous  avons  cause  de  beaucoup  de  choses, 
entre  autres  precisement  de  cette  curieuse  question  de  priere  selon 


MEMOIR. 


295 


Comte.  Elle  soutient  que  c’est  raisonnable  dans  le  sens  depres- 
sion de  vif  desir,  de  concentration  de  l’esprit  vers  son  but.  Son 
argument  etait  bien  fortement  soutenu  par  sa  maniere  energique 
de  raisonner,  mais  je  lui  ai  tenu  tete  avec  beaucoup  d’obstination, 
et  nous  avons  eu  une  veritable  lutte.  Elle  a une  singuliere  puis- 
sance, quelque  chose  qui  ne  se  trouve  jamais  que  chez  les  personnes 
d’un  genie  extraordinaire.  Quand  elle  a voulu  me  convaincre,  elle 
y mettait  tant  de  persuasion  et  de  volonte  qu’il  me  fallait  un  cer- 
tain effort  pour  garder  la  clarte  de  mes  propres  idees.  Je  te  dirai 
cela  plus  en  detail  quand  nous  nous  reverrons. 

“ Lewes  m’a  dit  qu’il  serait  content  d’avoir  d’autres  articles  de 
moi  pour  la  ‘ Fortnightly  Review.’  ” 

Two  days  later  he  wrote : — 

“ I dined  with  the  Mackays  yesterday  ; Mr.  Watkiss  Lloyd  was 
there,  and  other  friends  came  in  the  evening.  I spent  the  day  at 
home,  writing,  but  I have  an  engagement  for  every  night  this 
week  — I am  becoming  a sort  of  professional  diner-out. 

“I  have  been  talking  over  the  illustrations  of  the  ‘Painter’s 
Camp’  with  George  Leslie.  He  has  promised  to  do  twenty  etch- 
ings of  figure-subjects  to  illustrate  it,  and  I shall  do  twenty  land- 
scapes. I have  learned  a great  deal  from  Haden  here,  and  I feel 
sure  now  of  grappling  successfully  with  the  difficulties  which 
plagued  me  before.  Besides,  I am  anxious  to  have  a book  with 
etchings  in  it  out  in  time  to  appear  with  the  work  on  Etching.  I 
am  sure  this  new  edition  of  the  * Painter’s  Camp  ’ will  be  some- 
thing jolly.  It ’s  nice  to  think  I shall  have  two  beautiful  books 
out  at  Christmas.  It  will  give  my  reputation  a fillip.  It  appears 
that  Charles  Dickens,  Alfred  Tennyson,  and  George  Eliot  are 
amongst  my  most  assiduous  readers.  Is  n’t  it  pleasant  to  have 
readers  of  that  class?  . . . ” 

I will  give  here  a few  more  extracts  from  his  letters  at  that 
time;  it  is  the  best  way  of  becoming  acquainted  with  his 
method  of  work,  as  well  as  with  the  state  of  his  mind. 

“ Yesterday  I went  to  see  some  exhibitions  and  Mrs.  Cameron’s 
photographs ; they  are  really  very  fine,  quite  different  from  any- 
thing one  ever  saw  before.  You  will  be  very  much  struck  with 
them,  I am  sure. 

“Mr.  Palgrave  and  I spent  a delightful  evening  together  yester- 
day ; we  talked  till  midnight.  I found  him  a pleasant  companion. 


296 


MEMOIR. 


We  had  some  music;  Mrs.  Palgrave  plays  well.  He  has  a nice 
collection  of  Greek  vases,  which  would  delight  Mariller.  [A 
figure-painter  who  lived  at  Autun,  and  who  drew  the  figures  for 
the  ‘Unknown  River.’] 

“ The  more  I reflect  on  matters,  the  more  I rejoice  to  live  far 
away  from  here.  Known  as  I am  now,  I am  sure  that  if  I lived 
in  or  near  London  I should  be  exposed  to  frequent  interruptions, 
and  gradually  our  dear  little  private  life  would  be  taken  away 
from  us  both.  Besides,  this  continued  excitement  would  kill  me, 
I could  never  stand  it ; 1 really  need  quiet,  and  I get  it  at  Pre- 
Charmoy.  Just  now  I bear  up  pretty  well,  but  I know  I could  not 
stand  this  for  three  months  — out  every  evening,  working  or  seeing 
people,  or  going  in  omnibuses.  And  then  I need  the  great  refresh- 
ment of  being  able  to  talk  to  thee,  and  to  hear  thee  talk,  and  play 
with  the  children  a little ; all  that  is  good  for  me,  — in  fact,  I live 
upon  it.  I want  to  be  back  again.  My  breakfast  in  the  morning 
is  a difficulty ; as  you  know,  I never  can  eat  an  English  one,  and 
if  I don’t  I am  not  fit  for  much  fatigue.  The  distances,  too,  are 
terrible.  Still,  on  the  whole,  I keep  better  than  I expected  to  do. 
I hope  the  dear  little  boys  are  both  quite  well,  and  my  little 
daughter,  who  is  the  apple  of  my  eye.” 

About  the  difficulty  of  eating  an  English  breakfast,  it  must 
be  explained  that  since  Gilbert  had  begun  to  suffer  from 
nervousness  he  had  given  up  coffee  and  tea;  besides,  he  only 
liked  a very  light  breakfast,  and  we  had  tried  different  kinds 
of  food  for  the  morning  meal : chocolate  he  could  not  digest, 
although  it  was  to  his  taste ; cocoa  he  did  not  care  for ; beer 
and  dry  biscuits  succeeded  for  a time,  but  at  last  we  discov- 
ered that  soup  was  the  best  breakfast  for  him,  vegetable  soup 
(soupe  maigre)  especially,  because  it  must  not  be  too  rich. 
At  home  I always  made  his  soup  myself,  for,  being  always 
the  same  — by  his  own  choice  — he  was  particular  about  the 
flavor;  it  was  merely  onion-soup  with  either  cream  and  pars- 
ley, or  onion-soup  with  Liebig  and  chervil.  In  the  great 
summer  heat  he  took  instead  of  it  cold  milk  and  brown  bread. 
It  may  be  easily  surmised  that  such  a frugal  meal  could  not 
last  him  far  into  the  day,  particularly  as  he  was  a very  early 
riser,  and  often  had  his  bowl  of  soup  at  six  in  the  morning; 
then,  when  he  felt  hungry  again  — at  ten  generally  — he 


MEMOIR. 


297 


drank  a glass  of  beer  and  ate  a slice  of  home-made  brioche , 
which  allowed  him  to  await  the  twelve  o’clock  dejeuner  a la 
fourchette. 

The  following  passage  is  extracted  from  a letter  written  a 
few  days  after  those  already  given:  — 

“ J’ai  dine  chez  Woolner  hier.  Quel  brave  gar<jon ! Ses  ma- 
nieres  avec  moi  sont  tout-a-fait  affectueuses,  et  je  me  sens  avec  lui 
sur  le  pied  de  la  plus  parfaite  intimite.  II  n’y  a pas  un  homme  k 
Londres  qui  possede  un  cercle  d’amis  comme  le  sien : tout  ce  qu’il 
y a de  plus  distingue  en  tout.  Palgrave  dit  que  Woolner  fait  un 
choix  serieux  dans  ses  amities.  Sa  femme  est  jolie,  delicate,  gra- 
cieuse,  intelligente ; elle  me  fait  l’effet  d’un  lys. 

“ J’ai  regu  la  visite  de  Haden  hier,  il  m’a  plus  enseigne  relative- 
ment  k l’eau-forte  en  une  demi-heure  de  conversation  que  dix  ans 
de  pratique  ne  l’auraient  fait.  Voici  mes  engagements  : — 

Samedi,  diner  chez  Leslie. 

Dimanche,  tantot  chez  Lewes. 

Lundi,  diner  chez  Pearce. 

Mardi,  “ “ Mackay. 

Mercredi,  “ “ Shaw. 

Jeudi,  “ “ Woolner. 

Vendredi,  toute  la  journee  avec  Woodward. 

Samedi,  soiree  chez  Marks. 

Lundi,  diner  chez  Haden. 

Mardi,  “ “ Constable  fils : 

et  il  n’y  a pas  de  raison  pour  que  cela  s’arrete,  excepte  mon  depart 
pour  West  Lodge  qui  sera,  je  crois,  pour  mercredi.” 

However,  he  had  to  postpone  his  departure  on  account  of  a 
distressing  and  alarming  disturbance  of  his  nervous  system. 
Mr.  Haden  recommended  him  to  give  up  all  kind  of  work 
immediately,  which  he  did,  and  for  a few  days  he  only  wrote 
short  notes. 


“ Northumberland  Street.  Wednesday  Morning. 

“ Je  suis  toujours  faible,  mais  je  crois  que  je  puis  supporter  le 
voyage  aujourd’hui.  Si  j’etais  une  fois  k West  Lodge  je  m’y 
reposerais  bien.  Si  je  me  sentais  fatigue  je  m’arrGterais  n’im- 
porte  od.  La  surexcitation  cerebrale  est  completement  passe'e,  mais 
je  n’espere  pas  etre  remis  avant  un  mois.” 


298 


MEMOIR. 


From  West  Lodge  he  wrote,  in  answer  to  one  of  my 
letters : — 

“Our  present  business  is  to  look  simply  to  the  question,  what 
will  be  most  economical?  I have  no  objection  to  any  arrangement 
which  will  save  my  keeping  a man,  but  I have  a decided  objection 
to  that.  [It  was  about  the  garden,  one  half  of  which  I proposed 
to  cede  on  condition  of  having  the  other  half  cultivated  free  of 
charge.]  Any  arrangement  you  make  that  does  not  involve  my  keep- 
ing a man  has  my  approbation  beforehand. 

“ I saw  Macmillan  again  before  leaving,  and  now  he  is  for  bring- 
ing out  the  new  edition  of  the  ‘ Painter’s  Camp  ’ in  May.  It  will 
be  a pretty  little  book,  but  I can’t  get  Macmillan  to  go  to  the  ex- 
pense about  illustrations.  Colnaghi  will  publish  etchings  for  me, 
and  after  all  the  hints  and  instructions  received  from  Haden,  I feel 
quite  sure  that  I shall  succeed  in  etching. 

“ I expect  to  be  at  Pre-Charmoy  in  a few  days,  when  I shall  be 
delighted  to  see  you  all,  my  treasures.” 

Having  returned  to  London,  he  writes:  — 

“ I spent  last  evening  with  Beavington  Atkinson,  who  was  to 
have  come  to  see  us  in  France;  you  remember  Woodward  wrote 
about  him.  He  and  his  wife  are  most  agreeable  people,  and  I like 
him  really ; there  is  something  so  intelligent  and  pleasing  in  his 
manner. 

“ Yesterday  I went  through  Buckingham  Palace  to  see  the 
pictures.  There  is  a fine  Dutch  collection.  Then  I went  to  the 
British  Museum  to  see  the  Rembrandt  etchings,  and  was  accom- 
panied by  a collector,  Mr.  Fisher.  This  evening  I am  to  spend 
with  Haden  again  ; he  has  a magnificent  collection  of  etchings,  and 
will  help  me  very  much  with  my  book.  So  now  I am  sure  of  the 
right  quantity  of  assistance  in  my  work. 

“ I was  with  the  editor  of  the  ‘ Saturday  ’ this  afternoon ; nothing 
could  exceed  his  kind,  trustful  way. 

“ Still,  I wish  I were  back  with  you ; but  I shall  hurry  now  and 
come  back  fast.” 

Two  days  later : — 

“Je  me  sens  de  nouveau  fatigue.  J’ai  cause  aujourd’hui  avec 
l’aubergiste  de  Walton-on-Thames,  et  il  m’a  dit  qu’il  nous  nour- 
rirait  et  nous  logerait  tous  les  deux  pour  £2  par  semaine.  On  y 


MEMOIR. 


299 


est  tres  bien,  il  y a un  jardin,  et  des  etudes  k faire  en  quantite. 
Mr.  Haden  pense  que  la  peinture  ne  fatiguerait  pas  autant  le 
cerveau  que  la  litterature. 

“Si  je  t’avais  avec  moi,  et  si  je  restais  plus  longtemps,  je 
n’aurais  pas  besom  l’annee  prochaine  de  revenir  au  mois  de  juillet. 
Yoila  le  reve  que  j’ai  fait.  Je  viendrais  k Londres  une  ou  deux  fois 
par  semaine  seulement,  et  je  t’aurais  l^t-bas.  Je  ne  pense  pas  vivre 
sans  toi,  je  meurs  d’ennui.” 

The  kind  of  life  we  led  at  Pre-Charmoy  suited  perfectly 
my  husband’s  tastes,  and  he  was  soon  restored  to  health.  He 
would  have  been  entirely  happy  but  for  pressing  cares;  still, 
thanks  to  his  philosophical  disposition,  he  contrived  to  enjoy 
what  was  enjoyable  in  his  life.  He  was  extremely  fond  of 
excursions  in  the  country,  and  we  often  used  to  set  off  with 
nurse  and  children  in  the  farmer’s  cart,  to  spend  the  day  in 
some  picturesque  place,  where  he  could  sketch  or  paint.  We 
had  our  provisions  with  us,  and  both  lunched  and  dined  on 
the  grass  under  the  fine  chestnuts  or  oaks,  so  numerous  in  the 
Morvan,  by  the  side  of  a clear  stream  or  rivulet;  for  running 
water  had  a sort  of  magic  influence  upon  Gilbert,  and  instinc- 
tively, when  unwell  from  nervous  exhaustion,  he  sought  its 
soothing  influence.  We  generally  rambled  about  the  country 
after  each  meal,  and  whilst  he  drew  I read  to  him,  leaving 
the  children  to  their  play,  under  the  charge  of  the  nurse. 

So  far  we  had  taken  upon  ourselves  the  teaching  of  the 
boys,  but  for  some  time  past  I had  perceived  that  it  was 
becoming  inadequate  to  their  present  requirements,  and  I told 
their  father  that  I thought  they  should  be  sent  to  college,  — 
any  rate  the  eldest,  who  was  nearly  eight  years  old;  but  he 
demurred,  not  seeing  the  necessity  for  it.  He  had  a notion 
that  they  could  be  much  better  educated  at  home,  according 
to  a plan  of  his  own : Latin  and  Greek  would  be  reserved  for 
their  teens,  because  it  was  a clear  loss  of  time  before,  and 
they  would  be  taught  modern  languages  early,  together  with 
science  and  literature.  To  this  I objected,  that,  if  successful, 
it  might  be  a very  good  education  for  boys  who  were  certain 
of  an  independence,  but  that  it  did  not  seem  a good  way 
towards  the  degrees  necessary  for  almost  every  one  of  the 


300 


MEMOIR. 


liberal  professions.  Besides,  who  was  to  teach  the  boys 
when  he  was  away?  and  would  he  always  find  spare  time  to 
do  it,  and  regular  hours  also  ? I was  certain  he  would  never 
be  punctual  as  to  time;  only  he  did  not  like  to  be  told  so, 
because,  being  aware  of  this  shortcoming,  he  made  earnest 
efforts  to  correct  it,  and  constantly  failed.  It  was  difficult 
to  him  to  bear  any  kind  of  interruption,  or  any  compulsory 
change  of  work  — involving  loss  of  time  — and  on  that  score 
very  trying  to  one  who  wanted  always  to  finish  what  he  had 
in  band.  He  hardly  ever  came  down  at  meal-times  without 
the  bell  being  rung  twice,  and  often  when  he  did  come  down, 
he  used  to  say:  “That  bell  was  getting  angry,”  and  he  was 
met  with  this  stereotyped  phrase  from  us : “ And  it  made 
you  abandon  the  refractory  sentence  at  last ! ” 

Well,  he  acknowledged  there  was  some  weight  in  my  objec- 
tions to  home  instruction,  but  “ he  could  give  tasks  to  bo 
done  in  his  absence,  and  correct  them  afterwards.”  I asked, 
who  could  help  the  young  students  when  they  were  in  a 
fix  ? and  would  they  be  always  inclined  to  apply  themselves 
steadily  to  their  tasks  without  supervision  ? That  was  expect- 
ing too  much,  but  it  seemed  natural  to  him  to  expect  it,  as 
study  and  work  had  ever  been  both  a necessity  and  a pleasure 
to  him.  However,  he  yielded,  but  so  strong  was  his  disap- 
proval of  public  school  teaching  as  it  was  carried  on,  that  at 
first  he  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I had  to  go  to  the 
principal  of  the  college,  and  make  terms  and  arrangements; 
the  only  condition  he  made  was  that  the  boys  should  come 
home  every  Saturday  night,  and  remain  till  Monday  morn- 
ing, and  the  same  from  Wednesday  to  Friday  regularly,  for 
their  English  lessons  and  for  their  health.  I desired  nothing 
better,  and  the  principal  agreed  to  it.  Whenever  the  boys 
complained  of  anything  about  their  college  life  afterwards, 
their  father  used  to  say  good-humoredly : “ I have  no  respon- 
sibility in  the  matter;  /did  not  want  you  to  go  to  college, 
you  know  — it  was  your  mother.  ” 

Pre-Charmoy  being  four  kilometres  distant  from  the  town 
of  Autun,  and  five  from  the  college,  where  the  boys  had  to 
be  in  time  for  the  eight  o’clock  class,  summer  and  winter,  it 


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301 


became  necessary  to  have  some  means  of  conveying  them  to 
and  fro,  for  they  were  still  very  young,  — Stephen  a little 
over  eight,  and  Bichard  hardly  seven.  The  eldest  boy  went 
alone  at  first,  but  his  brother  soon  insisted  on  going  too.  We 
decided  to  do  like  most  of  our  country  neighbors,  that  is,  to 
have  a little  donkey-cart,  because  it  would  have  been  both 
inconvenient  and  expensive  to  hire  the  farmer’s  so  frequently. 
Accordingly  we  bought  a small , second-hand  carriage  with  its 
donkey,  and  I was  taught  to  drive;  my  husband  would  have 
preferred  a pony,  but  I was  nervous  at  the  idea  of  driving 
one,  although  I had  been  told  that  it  was  much  easier  to  man- 
age than  a donkey,  and  discovered  afterwards  that  it  was  the 
truth. 

The  little  cart  proved  a great  convenience  for  my  husband’s 
studies,  as  he  could  start  with  it  at  any  time,  and  there  was 
no  trouble  about  the  care  of  the  donkey,  the  servant-girls 
being  accustomed  to  it  from  infancy  — almost  every  household 
in  the  vicinity  being  in  possession  of  this  useful  and  inexpen- 
sive animal.  There  is  a Morvandau  song,  known  to  all  the 
little  shepherdesses,  in  illustration  of  the  custom:  — 

“ Mes  parents  s’y  mariant  ton 
Me  j’garde  l’ane  (bis). 

Mes  parents  s’y  mariant  tou 
Me  j’garde  l’ane  taut  mon  saotil ! 

“ Mais  quand  mon  tour  viendra 
Gardera  l’ane  (bis). 

Mais  quand  mon  tour  viendra 
Gardera  l’&ne  qui  voudra.” 

At  first  we  had  a swift  little  animal,  which  could  not  be 
stopped  at  all  when  he  was  behind  another  carriage,  till  that 
carriage  stopped  first.  It  was  an  advantage  in  some  cases , — 
for  instance,  when  preceded  by  a good  horse;  but  if  the 
horse  went  further  than  our  destination,  one  of  us  had  to 
jump  out  and  hold  back  the  fiery  and  stubborn  little  brute 
by  sheer  force,  till  his  sense  of  jealous  emulation  was 
appeased. 

The  load  upon  the  cart,  when  we  were  all  together,  was 


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MEMOIR. 


found  excessive  for  the  animal,  and  my  husband,  who  was 
always  deeply  concerned  about  the  welfare  of  dumb  creatures, 
decided  to  have  a bigger  and  stronger  donkey.  He  bought  a 
very  fine  one,  strong  enough  to  pull  us  all,  but  he  did  it  in 
such  a leisurely  fashion  that  he  received  the  expressive  name 
of  “ Dort-debout.  ” This  led  my  husband  to  write  to  me 
sometimes  from  London,  after  a hard  day’s  work:  “Here  is 
a very  short  note,  but  I am  like  our  donkey,  je  dors  debout.” 

The  editor  of  the  “ Saturday  Review  ” asked  Mr.  Hamerton 
to  he  present  at  the  opening  of  the  Paris  Exhibition  of  1867, 
and  to  write  a series  of  articles  on  the  works  of  art  exhibited; 
then  to  proceed  to  London  for  a review  of  the  Academy.  He 
wished  me  very  much  to  go  with  him,  and  I being  nothing 
loth,  we  started  together,  and  received  in  Paris  the  following 
letter  from  Aunt  Susan : — 

“ West  Lodge.  April  20,  1867. 

“My  dear  Nephew, — I am  very  glad  indeed  to  hear  from 
you,  as  I now  know  where  to  direct  my  long-intended  epistle  to 
you ; your  uncle  thought  you  would  not  like  to  come  to  the  ex- 
hibition in  its  very  unfinished  state,  and  I thought  you  would 
like  to  be  at  the  opening  of  it,  and  so  the  matter  was  resting 
quite  unacted  upon.  I grieve  very  much  to  tell  you  of  the  sad 
tidings  we  have  of  poor  Anne  Gould ; there  has  been  a consulta- 
tion with  her  medical  men,  and  they  pronounce  her  case  very 
serious,  — in  fact,  incurable.  She  grows  thinner  and  weaker  almost 
every  week,  and  one  lung  is  said  to  be  affected.  A confinement  is 
expected  in  July,  and  I cannot  but  still  hope  that  she  may 
possibly  come  round  again  ; but  it  has  been  sorrowful  news.  We 
shall  be  very  glad  to  see  you  both  at  West  Lodge  when  you  can 
make  it  convenient,  and  I do  hope  and  trust  we  shall  be  able  to 
enjoy  the  anticipated  pleasure  of  your  company.  You  will  have 
left  home  with  comparative  comfort,  the  boys  being  both  at  col- 
lege, and,  I expect,  grandmamma  with  the  little  sister.  I was 
very  glad  when  you  wrote  c before  ivc  can  be  in  England,’  as  it  as- 
sured me  the  little  wife  was  not  to  be  sent  homeward  from 
Paris,  instead  of  accompanying  you  to  West  Lodge,  where  we 
shall  be  very  glad  to  see  her.” 

Nevertheless,  I had  to  go  homewards,  for  about  three  weeks 
after  our  arrival  in  Paris  I heard  that  my  little  daughter 


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303 


Mary  was  ill  with  bronchitis,  and  I hastened  to  her  whilst 
my  husband  was  leaving  for  London.  I was  doubly  sorry, 
because  he  was  very  reluctant  to  go  alone ; but  although  he 
felt  a sort  of  instinctive  dread  of  the  journey  he  did  not 
attempt  to  detain  me.  He  had  borne  the  sight-seeing  very 
well,  and  the  crowds,  which  he  disliked;  but  it  was  mainly 
because  he  had  been  spared  hotel  life,  for  we  had  lodged  with 
a former  servant  of  ours,  who  was  married  at  Pre-Charmoy, 
and  now  lived  at  La  Glaciere,  in  Paris.  It  was  by  no  means 
a fashionable  quarter,  and  our  lodgings  left  much  to  be  desired 
in  the  way  of  comfort,  but  it  will  be  seen  how  much  he 
regretted  it  all  when  alone  at  Kew,  where  he  had  taken  lodg- 
ings after  much  suffering  from  fatigue,  over-work,  and  depres- 
sion. Still,  the  first  news  from  London  was  very  gratifying : — 

“ Un  mot  seulement  pour  te  dire  que  toutes  les  huit  eaux-fortes  sont 
re<pies  a l’Academie  et  bien  placees.  Ces  Academiciens  com- 
mencent  a devenir  gentils. 

“ Ce  matin  je  suis  alle  de  bonne  heure  & l’Academie,  comme 
d’habitude;  j’ai  maintenant  ma  carte  d’exposant  dont  je  suis  tres 
fier.” 

But  after  a fortnight  he  wrote : — 

“ Petite  Cherie,  — Aujourd’hui  je  vais  me  donner  le  plaisir  de 
m’entretenir  longuement  avec  toi.  Combien  je  prefererais  te  parler 
de  vive  voix.  Je  suppose  que  je  suis  tres  bien  ici;  c’est-k-dire 
j’ai  tout  ce  que  j’aime  materiellement : le  bon  air,  la  belle  nature, 
un  petit  appartement  d’une  propridt€  vraiment  exquise,  une  belle 
riviere  tout  k c6te,  et  des  canots  a ma  disposition.  Et  cependant, 
malgre  cela  je  suis  d’une  tristesse  mortelle,  et  j’ai  beau  me  raison- 
ner  la-contre.  Nous  avons  ete  si  heureux  ensemble  k Paris, 
malgre  notre  sale  petite  rue  que  je  vois  bien  la  verite  de  ce 
que  tu  m’as  dit  qu’il  vaudrait  mieux  vivre  dans  n’importe  quel 
tandis,  ensemble,  que  dans  des  palais,  et  separes.  Si  je  croyais 
a l’immortalite  de  l’ame,  je  regarderais  avec  effroi  la  possibility 
d’etre  au  ciel  pendant  que  tu  resterais  sur  la  terre.  Je  crois 
que  ma  maladie  est  due  principalement  k la  tristesse  et  je  tache  de 
lutter  lk-contre.  Je  vais  faire  quelques  eaux-fortes  et  aquarelles 
dans  mes  moments  de  loisir  pour  m’emp^cher,  autant  que  possible, 
de  penser  k ma  solitude. 


304 


MEMOIR. 


“ J’ai  eu  un  peu  de  fievre  dans  la  nuit,  et  ce  matin  je  suis  calme, 
mais  fatigue.  II  ne  faut  pas  t’en  alarmer  cependant ; le  voyage  et 
1 ’exposition  r^clamaient  une  reaction,  et  elle  arrive  naturellement 
au  premier  moment  od  j’ai  la  possibility  du  repos.  Quant  au  re- 
pos, je  m’en  donne  aujourd’hui  pleinement ; je  ne  fais  rien ; mais 
je  me  reposerais  mieux  si  tu  etais  ici  pour  me  dire  que  tu  m’aimes 
et  pour  mettre  tes  douces  mains  sur  mon  front.  Je  deviens  par 
trop  dependant  de  toi,  je  voudrais  dtre  plus  fort  — et  pourtant  je 
crois  qu’on  est  plus  heureux  etant  triste  a cause  d’une  separation 
d’avec  la  femme  aimee  que  si  l’on  etait  insensible  a cette  separation. 
Allons ! je  ne  voudrais  pas  vendre  matristesse  pour  beaucoup  ! elle 
s’en  ira  le  jour  oil  je  te  verrai ; en  attendant  je  la  garde  volontiers.” 

Then  follows  a minute  description  of  his  lodgings,  of  Kew 
itself  — the  gardens,  the  river,  the  different  boats  upon  it  — 
and  he  concludes : — 

“ Tiens,  voila  que  je  redeviens  un  peu  gai,  ce  qui  est  bon  signe  ; 
peutAtre,  quand  j’aurai  regu  une  lettre  de  toi  cela  ira  mieux. 
Ain  si,  ta-ta,  good-bye  ; embrasse  bien  les  chers  enfants  pour  moi  et 
dis  k ma  petite  Marie  que  je  lui  rapporterai  une  pepem  [for  poupe'e, 
which  she  could  not  yet  pronounce  clearly]  ou  autre  chose  de 
beau.” 

A few  days  later:  — 

“ Je  suis  alle  aujourd’hui  au  mus^e  Britannique  continuer  mes 
Etudes.  Le  systeme  que  j’ai  adopts  parait  bon,  et  9a  va  bien.  Je 
limite  rigoureusement  mes  travaux  en  choisissant  seulement  la 
cr£me  de  la  creme  des  planches. 

“ Je  me  suis  promene  ce  soir  au  jardin  de  Kew ; ces  promenades 
me  rendent  toujours  triste,  parcequ’&  chaque  bel  arbre  ou  jolie  fleur, 
je  me  figure  combien  tu  en  jouirais  si  tu  etais  avec  moi.  Quand 
on  s’est  si  bien  habitue  & vivre  k deux  il  est  difficile  de  redevenir 
gargon.  Dans  ces  moments  de  tristesse  je  pense  toujours  a la 
separation  eternelle,  et  au  sort  de  celui  de  nous  qui  restera.  Enfin 
j’apprends  ici  une  chose  qui  me  servira  toujours,  c’est  que  pour 
moi  maintenant  tout  est  vanite  sans  toi.  J’ai  un  jardin  Royal  a 
ma  disposition,  des  collections  d’oeuvres  d’art  superbes,  les  plus 
jolis  canots,  une  belle  rivi&re,  de  bons  livres  a lire,  du  succ£s  avec 
les  editeurs  et  une  reputation  en  bonne  voie,  et  pourtant  cette  ex- 
istence ne  vaut  pas  la  peine  de  vivre.  II  est  bon  de  savoir  ces 
choses  Ik  et  de  se  connaltre.  A Paris  od  notre  existence  materielle 


MEMOIR. 


305 


etait  pleine  d’ennuis,  j’etais  pourtant  heureux.  II  ne  faut  pas  de 
ton  c6te  etre  triste  parceque  je  le  suis,  du  moins  si  tu  peux  l’dviter. 
C’est  une  affaire  de  deux  ou  trois  semaines,  voila  tout.  De  mon 
cote  je  suis  si  occupe  que  je  n’ai  pas  le  temps  de  penser  a moi- 
m6me,  et  je  travaille  avec  la  regularity  d’un  homme  de  bureau. 
C’est  lorsque  je  rentre  chez  moi  que  je  souffre  de  ne  point  t’avoir. 

“ Quant  a ma  sante,  elle  va  mieux.  Je  connais  l’etat  de  mon 
systeme  nerveux  et  l’effet  que  le  chemin-de-fer  lui  produit.  Au- 
jourd’hui  je  n’en  ai  rien  ressenti  du  tout.  Quand  je  suis  ma- 
lade,  la  vibration  et  le  mouvement  des  objets  me  font  souffrir  un 
peu.” 

On  the  following  Sunday : — 

“Dear  little  Wife, — Last  night  I passed  the  evening 
with  a set  of  artists,  friends  of  George  Leslie,  at  the  house  of  one 
of  them,  Mr.  Hodgson.  They  acted  charades,  and  as  their  cos- 
tumes (from  their  own  ateliers)  were  numerous  and  rich,  it  was 
very  good.  Among  them  were  Calderon  and  Frederick  Walker. 
This  morning  we  all  set  out  for  a walk  on  Hampstead  Heath ; I 
have  no  doubt  the  walk  will  do  me  good,  but  I am  very  well 
now,  and  feel  better  every  day. 

“ I called  on  Rossetti  the  painter ; he  lives  in  a magnificent 
house,  furnished  with  very  great  taste,  but  in  the  most  extra- 
ordinary manner.  His  drawing-room  is  very  large  indeed  and 
most  curious ; the  general  effect  is  very  good.  He  was  very  kind 
in  receiving  me,  and  I saw  his  pictures,  which  are  splendid  in 
color,  and  very  quaint  and  strange  in  sentiment.  His  own  man- 
ners are  singularly  soft  and  pleasant.  I called  on  Mr.  Barlow  the 
engraver,  and  spent  some  time  with  him  about  the  etchings.  He 
will  lend  me  some  ; Marks  will  lend  me  some  also.  The  worst  of 
the  way  I go  on  in  London  now  is  that  society  absorbs  too  much 
time.  I must  restrict  it  in  future  very  much.” 

After  the  walk  to  Hampstead  he  wrote : — 

“ Yesterday,  Sunday,  I went  on  a long  walk  to  Hampstead  with 
several  artists  who  live  close  together,  and  I never  met  seven  more 
agreeable  and  more  gentlemanly  men  ; I enjoyed  our  conversation 
extremely.  George  Leslie  and  I got  some  lunch  at  the  inn  and 
walked  back  together. 

“ Calderon’s  studio  that  I saw  a few  days  ago  is  richly  tapestried 
and  very  lofty ; it  is  quite  as  fine  as  that  of  Millais.  It  seems 

20 


306 


MEMOIR. 


Leighton  has  built  himself  a studio  forty  feet  long.  Mr.  Barlow, 
the  engraver,  has  a fine  studio  attached  to  the  one  you  saw  him  in, 
and  far  larger.  All  these  artists  complain  of  nothing  but  the  too 
great  prosperity  of  the  profession  in  these  days  ; they  tell  me  an 
artist’s  life  is  a princely  one  now.  They  live  and  dress  like  gentle- 
men, and  their  daughters  might  be  ‘ clothed  in  scarlet.’ 

“ The  reason  for  my  staying  in  London  longer  than  I intended  is 
the  time  I have  spent  in  society  — a thing  I certainly  shall  never 
do  again  — because  I go  to  bed  so  late,  always  after  twelve,  where- 
as if  I were  not  in  society  I should  go  to  bed  at  nine  or  ten,  and 
keep  my  strength  up  easily.  Another  thing  I am  sure  of  is  that, 
on  the  whole,  the  advantages  of  being  isolated,  as  I am  at  Pr6- 
Charmoy,  counterbalance  and  more  than  counterbalance  the  dis- 
advantages. I certainly  would  not,  if  I could,  have  a house  in 
London ; the  loss  of  time  is  awful.  The  only  good  in  it  for  a 
painter  is  that  the  dealers  are  always  after  him  for  pictures  as  soon 
as  he  succeeds. 

“ Mind  you  have  a man  from  the  farm  to  sleep  in  the  house 
every  night.  It  would  be  well  for  him  to  have  the  gun  loaded, 
only  take  care  the  children  don’t  get  at  it.  My  health  is  still  tol- 
erably good,  sufficiently  so  for  me  to  get  easily  through  what  I 
have  to  do.” 

But  the  next  news  was  far  from  being  so  satisfactory. 

“ J’ai  des  nouvelles  de  W est  Lodge  qui  sont  vraiment  tristes. 
Anne  est  accouchee  prematurement,  et  l’enfant  — une  fille  — est 
morte  apres  avoir  vecu  deux  nuits  et  un  jour.  On  Pa  baptisee 
Annie  Jane  Hamerton  Gould.  Anne  est  dans  un  etat  de  faiblesse 
tel  qu’on  n’espere  pas  la  conserver  au-delh  de  quelques  semaines, 
et  mon  pauvre  oncle  est  dans  l’ile  de  Wight  avec  elle,  oh  tout  cela 
se  passe.  La  tante  Susan,  de  son  cote,  est  malade  d’une  fievre 
gastrique  — maladie  bien  dangereuse,  comme  tu  sais ; elle  a pu 
m’ecrire  quelques  mots  au  crayon;  elle  se  trouve  un  peu  mieux, 
ce  qui  me  fait  esperer  que  probablement  sa  bonne  constitution 
triomphera  du  mal.  Je  voudrais  aller  la  voir  de  suite,  mais  je  suis 
tellement  retenu  par  mon  travail ; et  puis  le  bon  arrangement  de 
ce  travail  et  son  heureux  succfes  m’avaient  fait  regagner  un  peu  ma 
serenite  d’esprit,  et  maintenant  je  souffre  de  nouveau  pour  mon 
oncle  et  ma  tante.  Yraiment  c’est  penible  d’etre  lh  avec  son  der- 
nier enfant  qui  s’en  va  si  vite.  Si  encore  la  pauvre  petite  avait 
vecu,  mon  oncle  aurait  eu  une  fille  peur  remplacer  les  siennes,  car 
il  faut  bien  parler  d’Anne  comme  d’une  personne  morte. 


MEMOIR. 


307 


“ Je  me  felicite  des  resultats  de  mon  nouveau  systeme : je  me 
leve  de  fort  bonne  heure,  j’ai  fini  dans  l’Academie  k 10  h.  £ ; alors 
je  fais  une  course,  et  immediatement  apres  je  me  rends  au  Musee 
oil  je  dejeune.  On  y dejeune  tres  bien  et  pas  cher ; tu  comprends 
que  c’est  pour  les  gens  de  lettres  qui  travaillent  k la  bibliotheque. 
Je  rentre  ici  k six  heures,  et  le  soir  je  me  promene  un  peu  au  jar- 
din,  ou  sur  l’eau ; apres  quoi  j’ecris  a la  petite  femme  cherie  et  je 
me  couche.  Aujourd’hui,  comme  hier,  j’ai  etudie  et  decrit  dix 
tableaux  et  dix  planches.  Je  crois  que  mes  notes  sur  les  aqua- 
fortistes  iront  plus  vite  que  je  ne  l’avais  espere.  J’ai  dejk  termine 
Claude,  Salvator,  Wilkie,  Geddes,  Ruysdael,  Paul  Potter.  J’arri- 
verai  a ma  vingtaine  si  ma  sante  se  maintient  pendant  tout  mon 
sejour.  Je  reserve  le  samedi  et  le  dimanche  k Kew  pour  ecrire  ou 
dessiner. 

“Je  m’etonne  du  mauvais  de  certains  aqua-fortistes  celebres. 
Dans  toute  1’oeuvre  de  Ruysdael  je  ne  trouve  que  deux  bonnes 
planches,  et  encore  si  elles  dtaient  publides  dans  l’ouvrage  de  la 
Societe  Framjaise,  je  les  trouverais  peut-etre  mauvaises.  Dans 
Salvator  il  y en  a egalement  deux  ou  trois  bonnes.  L’oeuvre  de 
Claude  est  belle  en  somme,  avec  plusieurs  mauvaises  choses 
toutefois. 

“ Adieu,  petite  cherie,  le  temps  de  mon  exil  diminue,  et  alors  je 
te  reverrai,  toi  et  les  enfants.” 

But  he  was  suddenly  and  violently  seized  by  a mysterious 
illness,  which  threatened  not  only  his  life  but  his  reason,  as 
he  told  me  afterwards.  He  longed  to  have  me  near  him,  yet 
he  was  so  courageous  that,  to  spare  me,  he  only  wrote  that  he 
was  suffering  from  fatigue : — 


“ Crown  Inn,  Walton-on-Thames. 

“Ca  va  toujours  tout  doucement.  Je  me  promene  tranquille- 
ment.  Je  reste  encore  ici  deux  nuits  pour  gagner  un  peu  de  force. 
Je  suis  toujours  tres  faible,  mais  le  cerveau  va  mieux,  je  n’ai  point 
de  surexcitation  cerebrale.  Je  ne  dois  pas  beaucoup  ecrire.  Ainsi 
tata,  ma  bien  aimee. 

“ Lundi  soir. 

“ Puisque  je  sais  que  tu  dois  etre  inquiete  je  t’ecris  une  deuxieme 
fois  aujourd’hui  pour  te  dire  que  je  vais  beaucoup  mieux.  La  force 
commence  a me  revenir.  Je  me  suis  bien  promend,  lentement, 
toute  la  journde.  Je  n’ai  pas  osd  te  dire  combien  j’ai  ddsird  ta 


308 


MEMOIR. 


chere  presence  ces  jours-ci.  Si  je  l’avais  dit  tu  aurais  capable 
de  te  mettre  en  route.  C’est  toujours  triste  d’etre  malade,  mais 
c’est  terrible  quand  on  est  seul  dans  une  auberge.  [He  had  gone 
to  Walton-on-Thames  for  quiet  and  rest.] 

“ Enfin  j’espere  que  c’est  a peu  pr&s  passd  pour  cette  fois,  et  je 
me  promets  bien  de  ne  plus  jamais  travailler  au-dessus  de  mes 
forces.  Mr.  Haden  dit  que  je  n’ai  point  de  maladie,  mais  que  je 
suis  incapable  de  supporter  tout  travail  excessif.  II  va  falloir 
rdgler  tout  cela.” 

“J’ai  du  renoncer  h.  mon  travail  pendant  deux  jours  parceque 
j’ai  besoin  de  repos,  et  il  me  semble  plus  sage  de  le  prendre  k 
temps  que  de  me  rendre  malade.  Lorsque  je  suis  malade  je  ne 
puis  pas  me  reposer,  tandis  que  maintenant,  je  suis  simplement 
fatigue.  Je  dors  bien,  mais  comme  je  suis  seul  dans  mon  loge- 
ment,  je  deviens  tout  triste.  Je  n’ose  pas  penser  du  tout  k Pre- 
Charmoy  parceque  cela  me  donne  une  telle  envie  de  te  voir  que 
j’en  serais  malade.  Ah!  si  la  force  physique  voulait  seulement 
repondre  a la  force  morale ! Moralement,  je  n’ai  jamais  6te  plus 
fort,  plus  dispose  a la  lutte ; et  puis  ces  jours  de  fatigue  arrivent 
et  m’accablent,  et  je  souifre  dix  fois  plus  qu’un  paresseux  s’y 
resignerait. 

“ Beaucoup  de  baisers  aux  enfants,  et  beaucoup  pour  toi,  petite 
femme  trop  ch^rie.  Je  n’ose  penser  combien  ce  serait  gentil  si  tu 
£tais  ici  aupres  de  moi.” 

In  answer  I immediately  proposed  to  go  to  him,  as  our 
little  daughter  was  convalescent,  and  her  grandmother  would 
take  care  of  her  during  my  absence,  but  he  declined. 

“ Petite  Ch^rie  de  mon  cceur, — Je  viens  de  recevoir  ta 
bonne  lettre,  il  n’est  pas  n^cessaire  que  tu  viennes;  je  gagne 
graduellement.  J’ai  passed  la  soiree  avec  Mr.  Pearce  qui  sait  que 
je  suis  malade.  J’ai  echapp^  sans  doute  a un  grave  danger,  j’ai 
meme  eu  peur  de  perdre  la  raison;  mais  tout  cela  est  passe;  je 
suis  calme  et  quoique  faible  encore  — plus  fort.  C’est  surtout 
mentalement  que  je  vais  mieux,  ce  qui  est  le  plus  essentiel : le 
corps  suivra.  Je  n’ai  pas  ose  entreprendre  le  voyage  de  Tod- 
morden  aujourd’hui,  mais  j’ai  l’espoir  de  pouvoir  partir  demain. 
Quoique  en  dtat  de  convalescence,  je  suis  obligd  d’etre  prudent  et 
d’dviter  les  grandes  fatigues.  Le  m^decin  dit  qu’il  faudra  un 
changement  dans  ma  maniere  de  vivre.  Le  fait  est  que  je  me  tue 


MEMOIR. 


309 


en  travaillant  et  je  sens  que  je  n’irais  pas  trois  ans  comme  cela. 
Enfin  je  me  dis  que  puisque  ma  mort  ne  te  ferait  pas  de  bien,  je 
dois  tacher  de  me  conserver;  si  ma  mort  pouvait  t’etre  utile  je 
mourrais  bien  volontiers.  Ta  chere  lettre,  toute  pleine  d’affection, 
m’a  fait  du  bien.  Dis  k mon  bon  petit  Stephen  que  je  le  remercie 
de  toute  sa  tendresse  pour  moi  et  que  je  vais  mieux.  J ai  beaucoup 
pens4  k mes  chers  enfants,  ne  sachant  pas  si  je  les  reverrais. 

« Je  t’ai  tout  dit;  9a  a ete  seulement  un  dtat  d’abattement  com- 
plet  accompagnd  d’excitation  des  centres  nerveux. 

“ Kew.  Thursday. 

“Le  temps  est  si  mauvais  que  je  n’ai  pas  pu  faire  une  seule 
esquisse.  Ma  tante  Susan  t’a  ecrit  pour  te  dire  que  la  pauvre 
Anne  a cesse  de  souffrir.  J’ai  re9u  une  lettre  de  son  mari  qui 
me  dit  que  les  derniers  jours  ont  dtd  bien  pdnibles.  Je  ne 
vais  toujours  pas  bien  k cause  de  la  tristesse  et  de  1 inquietude 
que  tout  cela  m’a  cause,  mais  il  ne  faut  pas  etre  inquikte  pour 
moi ; 9a  se  passera  dans  un  jour  ou  deux,  tu  sais  que  je  suis  tres 
impressionnable. 

“II  me  prend  de  temps  en  temps  d’angoissantes  envies  de  te 
voir.  Dans  ces  moments-lk  il  me  semble  que  je  realise  chaque 
metre,  chaque  centimetre  de  l’effroyable  distance  qui  nous  separe. 
Je  suis  oblige  de  lutter  fortement  contre  ces  iddes  qui  finiiaient 
par  me  rendre  malade. 

“ Je  dois  maintenant  aller  au  train ; k demain  done.” 

“West  Lodge.  Vendredi. 

“ Je  suis  bien  arrive  chez  ma  tante  que  j’ai  trouvee  en  bonne 
sante,  mais  je  suis  toujours  horriblement  triste  ici,  et  je  me  le 
reproche,  car  ma  tante  est  toujours  si  bonne.  Elle  nous  avait 
destine  la  belle  chambre-k-coucher,  et  j’ai  la  chambre  tout  seul,  ce 
qui  ne  contribue  pas  k diminuer  ma  tristesse.  Une  chose  au  moins 
me  console:  j’ai  le  materiel  pour  mon  livre  sur  l’eau-forte,  e’est 
beaucoup.  Je  crois  la  publication  de  ce  livre  si  essentielle  k mon 
avenir,  comme  soutien  de  ma  reputation,  que  j’aurais  ete  vraiment 
desoie  de  ne  pas  pouvoir  le  faire  maintenant.  Ayant  tout  le  mar 
teriel  dans  ma  tete,  je  ferai  l’ouvrage  tres  vite,  et  je  suis  convaincu 
qu’il  sera  bon  et  tout-k-fait  nouveau.  J’ai  bien  besoin  maintenant 
d’un  peu  de  bruit  pour  augmenter  ma  reputation,  car  ces  articles 
anonymes  ne  l’aident  point. 

“ Dans  ta  tristesse,  ma  cherie,  il  faut  toujours  avoir  la  plus  grande 
confiance  en  la  duree  de  mon  amour  pour  toi.  Je  crois  que  mon 


310 


MEMOIR. 


amour  et  ma  loyaut^  sont  au  moins  aussi  forts  que  le  sentiment  de 
l’hdro'isme  militaire.  II  me  semble  que  si  les  soldats  peuvent  sup- 
porter toutes  les  privations  pour  leur  roi  ou  pour  leur  patrie,  je  dois 
pouvoir  en  faire  autant  pour  ma  femme.  Compte  sur  ma  ten- 
dresse,  m^me  dans  les  circonstances  les  plus  difficiles,  tu  l’auras 
toujours.  Grace  k ton  influence,  je  suis  beaucoup  plus  capable 
qu’autrefois  de  supporter  les  diflicultds  de  la  vie,  et  si  nous  avions 
a vivre  dans  une  pauvre  chaumiere,  je  t’aiderais  gaiement  a faire  les 
travaux  du  petit  manage  en  y consacrant  deux  ou  trois  heures  par 
jour,  et  quand  tu  coudrais  je  te  ferais  un  peu  la  lecture,  et  toujours 
je  t’aimerais.  Ainsi  crois  que,  loin  de  souffrir  des  devoirs  que  je 
me  suis  imposes,  j’y  trouve  la  plus  profonde  satisfaction,  et  que  je 
me  trouve  plus  respectable  que  si  je  ne  faisais  rien.” 

“ West  Lodge.  Vendredi. 

“ J’avais  l’intention  de  partir  aujourd’hui  mais  la  tante  Susan 
parait  tellement  triste  quand  je  parle  de  m’en  aller  que  j’ai  du 
reculer  mon  depart  jusqu’k  lundi.  Du  reste  j’ai  fait  trois  planches 
que  je  crois  bonnes;  j’y  ai  bien  travailld;  j’ai  aussi  ^crit  trois 
articles,  mais  mon  travail  pour  la  Revue  ne  gagne  pas  grand’chose, 
et  du  moment  oil  la  peinture  rapportera,  je  quitterai  la  revue ; je 
n’aime  pas  ce  genre  de  travail,  quoiqu’on  dise  que  je  le  fais  bien. 
J’aimerais  autant  etre  cocher  de  fiacre.  Ce  que  j’ai  toujours  d^sird 
faire  c’est  de  la  peinture  ; mes  efforts  dans  cette  direction  n’ontpas 
abouti  jusqu’a  present,  mais  si  j’avais  un  peu  de  temps  libre,  je 
saurais  mieux  faire  & cause  de  mon  experience  de  critique ; je  vois 
maintenant  dans  quel  sens  il  faut  travailler. 

“ Je  vis  k Londres  aussi  simplement  que  possible  et  pourtant  mes 
sdjours  y sont  tres  couteux.  Quant  k la  reputation,  en  comparai- 
son  du  bonheur  de  vivre  tranquillement  avec  toi,  elle  m’est  absolu- 
ment  indifferente.  II  me  semble  que  lorsque  le  mari  et  la  femme 
sont  si  parfaitement  d’accord  sur  le  but  de  la  vie,  il  doit  etre  facile 
d’y  parvenir.  Notre  plus  grand  desir  k tous  les  deux  c’est  d’etre 
ensemble  ; eh ! bien,  du  moment  oil  les  choses  nous  seront  propices, 
nous  rdaliserons  notre  d^sir,  et  m6me  par  la  volont^  nous  forcerons 
les  circonstances,  c’est-k-dire  que  nous  supporterons  des  inconvd- 
nientspour  y arriver.  Dejk  Wallis  et  Colnaghi  consentent  a exposer 
mes  ouvrages ; mes  eaux-fortes  sont  appr^cides.  Peut-6tre  dans  un 
temps  comparative ment  rapprochd  serai-je  en  position  de  donner 
ma  demission  — non  seulement  k la  Saturday,  mais  a la  literature, 
et  a me  devouer  exclusivement  k l’Art.  Du  moment  oil  cela  arri- 
vera  il  sera  infiniment  plus  facile  d’etre  ensemble,  car  je  tacherai  de 
faire  un  genre  d’Art  qui  me  permettra  d’dtudier  chez  nous,  oudans 


MEMOIR. 


311 


un  petit  rayon.  Enfin  regardons  la  situation  actuelle  comme  p6- 
nible,  mais  pas  du  tout  permanente.  Tu  peux  compter  que  du  mo- 
ment od  je  le  pourrai  je  quitterai  la  Revue  ; j’y  suis  bien  ddcidA” 

After  this  letter,  my  husband,  feeling  much  better,  came 
back  to  London  to  resume  his  work,  and  wrote  about  what  he 
thought  most  important  or  most  interesting  to  me.  I shall 
quote  from  his  letters  in  their  order  according  to  dates. 

Waterloo  Place,  Kew.  Lundi  soir. 

“ Mr.  Macmillan  m’a  re<ju  parfaitement,  presque  affectueuse- 
ment ; il  m’a  invite  a diner.  Je  suis  alld  voir  Mr.  Seeley,  mon  nouvel 
dditeur,  que  j’ai  trouvd  intelligent,  comme  il  faut,  jeune  encore,  et 
parfaitement  cordial.  Je  crois  que  mes  relations  avec  lui  seront 
tout-a-fait  faciles. 1 

“ L’exposition,  en  somme,  est  belle.  Il  y a plusieurs  tableaux 
remarquables,  entre  autres  une  Vdnus  de  Leighton  que  je  trouve 
superbe.  La  contribution  de  Landseer  est  importante,  c’est  un 
portrait  de  la  Reine,  & cheval,  en  deuil;  cheval  noir , trois  chiens 
noirs , groom  noir , del  noir. 

“ C’est  agrdable  de  rentrer  le  soir  en  pleine  campagne ; 9a  me 
fait  du  bien.  Je  n’ose  pas  penser  combien  ce  serait  gentil  si  ma 
chdrie  £tait  avec  moi,  parceque  cela  me  rend  triste  tout  de  suite ; 
mais  je  t’^crirai presque  tous  les  jours,  quelquefois  brievement  quand 
je  serai  trop  pressd.  Sois  gentille  toi,  et  dcris  souvent ; les  bonnes 
nouvelles  que  tu  m’envoies  deta  santd  et  de  celle  des  enfants  m’ont 
rendu  mon  courage  et  — ce  que  je  puis  avoir  de  gaiety.” 

Samedi. 

“ Il  parait  que  j’avais  encore  besoin  de  repos,  car  aujourd’hui  je 
suis  tres  fatigu^.  J’espdre  que  lundi  j’irai  mieux  ; un  ou  deux 
jours  de  repos  me  sont  ndcessaires  : voilh  tout.  Je  n'ai  point  de  sur- 
exdtation  cerebrate ; je  dors  bien  et  je  me  repose  pleinement,  ce  qui 
ne  doit  pas  tarder  a r^tablir  mes  forces.  Je  souffre  d’etre  seul. 
Mr.  Gould  va  venir  passer  huit  jours  ici;  je  trouve  amiable  de  sa 
part  de  bien  vouloir  venir  s’dtablir  a Kew  pour  etre  pres  de  moi ; 
mon  oncle  viendra  peutAtre  aussi. 

“ Je  vais  me  plaindre  un  peu,  tout  doucement,  de  la  petite  chdrie 
de  Prd-Charmoy ; elle  n’^crit  pas  assez  souvent  k son  mari  qui  re- 
90R  to u jours  ses  lettres  avec  tant  de  plaisir.  Il  y a pourtant  une 
de  ces  lettres  qui  a donnd  tant  de  bonheur  qu’elle  peut  compter 

1 Mr.  Seeley  had  asked  him  to  write  some  notes  on  Contemporary  French 
Painters,  to  be  illustrated  with  photographs. 


312 


MEMOIR. 


pour  une  douzaine.  Pauvre  cherie ! comme  je  voudrais  toujours 
reussir  k rendre  ta  vie  douce  et  agreable ! Depuis  que  je  ne  vis 
plus  pour  moi,  mais  pour  toi  et  les  enfants,  j’ai  goute  moi-meme 
un  nouveau  genre  de  bonheur  m616  de  nouvelles  tristesses.  Ces 
tristesses  sont  dues  k la  pensee  que  je  fais  si  peu,  et  que,  avec  plus 
de  forces  je  ferais  tant  et  si  bien  ! Avec  la  force  je  serais  sur  main- 
tenant  de  reussir  pleinement.  Je  tiens  la  reputation  par  un  petit 
bout,  mais  je  la  tiens,  et  elle  augmentera.  Tout  me  prouve  que 
notre  avenir  serait  assure  si  j’avais  autant  de  force  que  de 
volonte.” 

“ Dimanche. 

< “ Je  suis  alle  voir  George  Eliot  et  Lewes  qui  a et4  charmant ; il  est 

venu  s’asseoir  k cotd  de  moi  oil  il  est  restd  tout  le  temps  de  ma 
visite,  et  lorsque  je  suis  parti,  il  s’est  beaucoup  plaint  de  ne  pas 
me  voir  davantage.  Il  me  traite  d’une  fa<;on  tr£s  affectueuse,  et  en 
m£me  temps  avec  un  respect  qui,  venant  de  lui,  me  flatte  beaucoup. 
Quant  k George  Eliot  elle  est  tr&s  aimable,  mais  elle  a le  d4faut  de 
rester  toujours  assise  au  m6me  en  droit,  et  quand  il  y a du  monde,  la 
seule  personne  qui  puisse  causer  avec  elle,  est  son  voisin.  Quand 
j’y  retournerai,  je  m’installerai  aupres  d’elle,  parceque  je  tiens  k la 
connaitre  un  peu  mieux.  J’y  ai  rencontrd  Mr.  Ralston  qui  s’dtait 
assis  modestement  un  peu  en  dehors  du  cercle  oil  j’^tais  et  pendant 
tout  le  temps  de  sa  visite,  il  n’a  presque  rien  dit  et  c’est  a peine  si 
on  lui  a parld.  J’ai  tronvd  ces  arrangements  mauvais.  Les  gens 
qui  re9oivent  doivent  souvent  changer  de  place,  de  fa§on  k causer 
avec  tous  leurs  visiteurs. 

“ Lundi  dernier  j’ai  din£  chez  Mr.  Craik  — le  mari  de  l’auteur  de 
‘John  Halifax.’  Il  habite  un  charmant  cottage  a Beckenham,  un 
endroit  k quatre  lieues  de  Londres  oil  il  vient  tous  les  jours  en 
chemin-de-fer.  Tu  sais  qu’il  est  l’associ^  de  Macmillan.  Nous 
avons  passd  une  soirde  fort  agreable  ; c’est  un  homme  tres  cultivd, 
qui  autrefois  4tait  auteur,  et  qui  a occupy  une  chaire  de  literature 
k Edimbourg.  Sa  femme,  quoique  c^l^bre,  est  simple  et  tres  aima- 
ble; elle  m’a  dit  que  quand  tu  viendrais,  elle  ddsirait  te  connaitre. 

“ Mardi  j’ai  dind  chez  le  Professeur  Seeley,  le  frere  de  mon  ddi- 
teur ; il  a occupy  la  chaire  de  Latin  k l’Universitd  de  Londres.  C’est 
l’auteur  d’Ecce  Romo.  Macmillan  m’ayant  donnd  ce  livre,  je  l’ai 
trouvd  tres  fort  comme  style  et  d’une  hardiesse  dtonnante. 
L’auteur  est  des  plus  sympathiques  ; il  a des  manieres  charmantes 
— si  modestes  et  si  intelligentes,  car  les  manieres  peuvent  montrer 
de  l’intelligence.  J’aime  beaucoup  les  deux  freres,  et  dans  le  peu 
de  temps  que  je  les  ai  vus  j’en  ai  fait  des  amis. 


MEMOIR. 


313 


“Mercredi  j’ai  din4  chez  moi,  ayant  un  article  k ^crire.  Jeudi 
chez  Stephen  Pearce.  Yendredi  chez  Mr.  Wallis,  le  marchand  de 
tableaux.  C’est  un  homme  tres  deiicat  et  tr&s  fin.  II  avait  invite 
Mr.  Burgess,  un  artiste  intelligent  et  agrdable  que  j’avais  ddjk 
rencontre  au  Salon  de  l’ann^e  derni&re.  J’ai  rencontre  Tom 
Taylor  k l’exposition.  Wallis  et  nous  avons  cause  quelque  temps 
ensemble.  J’ai  rencontre  Clifton  et  dine  avec  lui  k son  Club.” 

“ Lundi  matin. 

« Je  suis  alie  hier  passer  le  tantot  chez  Lewes,  on  a ete  enchantd 
de  mes  eaux-fortes.  George  Eliot  s’est  plainte  de  ne  pas  avoir 
assez  cause  avec  moi  k ma  dernikre  visite,  et  m’a  invite  a prendre 
place  k c6te  d’elle.  Nous  avons  parie  d’art,  de  literature  et  d’elle- 
meme.  Elle  m’a  dit  que  personne  n’avait  eu  plus  d’inquidtudes  et 
de  souffrances  dans  le  travail  qu’elle,  et  que  le  peu  qu’elle  fait  lui 
coute  dnorm^ment. 

“ J’ai  discute  avec  Lewes  l’idde  de  faire  la  reimpression  de  mes 
articles,  et  il  m’a  conseilie  de  ne  pas  le  faire  si  je  puis  fonder  un 
livre  sur  ces  articles.  J’avoue  que  je  serais  assez  tentd  de  faire  un 
ouvrage  sdrieux  sur  la  peinture,  pour  lequel  mes  articles  serviraient 
de  materiel.” 

• “ Samedi  soir. 

“J’ai  dine  hier  soir  chez  Mr.  Macmillan,  nous  etions  seuls 
d’hommes.  H y avait  sa  femme,  ses  enfants,  et  une  grand’mkre. 
II  a une  famille  nombreuse,  de  beaux  enfants.  Sa  femme  est 
bonne,  et  si  simple  que  j’ai  rarement  vu  un  comme-il-faut  plus 
acheve  sans  etre  de  la  distinction.  La  maison  est  trks  spacieuse 
et  entour^e  d’arbres  magnifiques.  Ce  qu’il  y a de  particulier  dans 
cette  maison,  c’est  un  caract&re  intime  et  d’aisance  ancienne* 
Macmillan  a su  dviter  avec  un  tact  parfait,  tout  ce  qui  pouvait 
rappeler  le  nouveau  riche.  On  se  croirait  dans  une  grande  maison 
de  campagne,  k cinquante  lieues  de  Londres,  et  dans  une  ancienne 
famille  dtablie  lk  depuis  plusieurs  generations. 

“ Nous  avons  passe  toute  la  soiree  ensemble.  II  laisse  entikre- 
ment  k mon  jugement  tout  ce  qui  regarde  l’illustration  de  mon 
livre.  Ce  que  j’ai  aime  dans  cette  maison,  comme  dans  toutes  les 
personnes  que  j’y  ai  trouvees,  a ete  l’absence  complete  de  toute 
affectation.  Tout  est  homogene  et  je  n’ai  encore  jamais  vu  une 
maison  de  campagne  ayant  cet  aspect-lk.  Mon  respect  pour  Mac- 
millan s’est  considerablement  augments  de  ce  qu’on  ne  rencontre 
chez  lui  aucune  splendeur  vulgaire:  rien  ne  parle  d’argent  chez 
lui. 


314 


MEMOIR. 


f 

“La  conversation  a 4t4  trfes  gdndrale.  Quand  je  suis  parti,  il 
m’a  reconduit  k travers  un  champ  pour  abr6ger  mon  chemin  k la 
station.  II  a chante  quelques  vieilles  chansons  avec  beaucoup  de 
caractkre;  j’ai  chantd  un  peu  aussi  — et  pourtant  je  ne  suis  gukre 
dispose  k chanter.  Anne  avait  montrd  tant  de  contentement  quand 
je  suis  alffi  la  voir  k Sheffield — et  penser  que  je  ne  la  reverrai  plus. 
Je  souifre  aussi  pour  mon  oncle,  je  me  mets  k sa  place  en  pensant 
a ma  petite  Mary ; si  je  la  perdais  plus  tard ! . . . et  puis  — et  puis, 
tu  sais  comment  viennent  les  iddes  noires,  et  combien  un  malheur 
vous  en  fait  craindre  d’autres.” 


“ Dimanche. 

“ Je  me  sens  de  nouveau  fatigud  et  cette  fatigue  semble  persister. 
II  est  bien  possible  que  1’ ennui  et  la  nostalgie  y soient  pour  quelque 
chose. 

“ Figure-toi  qu’il  y a une  jeune  peintresse  qui  m’a  6t6  recom- 
mand^e,  et  dont  la  situation  est  bien  prdcaire ; j’ai  eu  la  faiblesse 
de  lui  dcrire  une  petite  lettre  gentille  et  encourageante  et  me  voilk 
en  butte  k des  dclats  de  d^sespoir  ou  de  reconnaissance;  de  re- 
proches  et  de  remerciements.  Le  plaisir  de  faire  du  bien  k ceux 
qui  souffrent  est  tel,  que  l’on  voudrait  s’en  donner,  et  le  critique 
est  souvent  tent£  de  manger  de  ce  sucre-lk. 

“ Je  ne  regrette  pas  de  m’etre  ^tabli  k Kew ; il  n’y  a qu’une 
chose  contre  Kew,  c’est  que  je  n’y  connais  personne,  tandis  qu’k 
St.  John’s  Wood  j’ai  plusieurs  amis.  Mais  la  solitude  a aussi  ses 
avantages  et  quand  on  voit  du  monde  tous  les  jours,  on  peut  bien 
passer  la  soiree  chez  soi.  Si  la  petite  femme  £tait  seulement  ici, 
ce  serait  parfait.” 

“ Mardi. 

« Petite  femme  chdrie  qui  a gentille  puisqu’elle  a dcrit  deux 
lettres. 

« Celle-ci  est  simplement  pour  te  dire  que  mon  repos  a enfin 
produit  son  effet  et  que  je  suis  rentrd  dans  mon  dtat  ordinaire. 
Aujourd’hui  je  me  rends  au  Mus4e,  et  j’ai  pu  ^crire. 

« Mon  oncle  est  arrive  hier  soir,  il  partage  mon  salon,  mais  je 
lui  ai  loue  une  chambre-k-coucher  dans  la  maison  voisine.  Il  ne 
parait  pas  trop  abattu;  nous  causons  beaucoup  et  je  tache  de 
l’^gayer  autant  que  sa  position  le  permet.  Il  est  moins  re'serve 
qu’ autrefois  et  me  laisse  voir  davantage  le  cours  de  ses  pensees 
qui  vont  souvent  a ses  filles  et  k sa  femme.  Je  l’emmene  aujour- 
d’hui k l’Academie.  Il  y a une  chose  qui  doit  te  rassurer  quant  k 
l’dtat  de  ma  sant£,  c’est  que  je  n’ai  jamais  ces  sensations  au  cerveau 


MEMOIR. 


315 


dont  j’ai  souffert.  Le  cerveau  n’est  pas  fatigue  et  en  me  reposant 
k temps,  je  r^pare  rapidement  mes  forces.  Ce  qui  est  vraiment  in- 
supportable ce  sont  les  separations,  et  j’ai  bien  de  la  peine  a m’y 
resigner,  et  je  ne  m’y  resignerais  pas  du  tout  si  la  peinture  rappor- 
tait.  Mais  en  mettant  les  choses  au  pis  pour  les  affaires  d’argent, 
j’espere  que  tu  me  verras  toujours  courageux  et  affectueux  dans 
l’adversite ; je  me  figure  que  depuis  quelque  temps  j’ai  appris  a la 
supporter  sans  qu’elle  puisse  m’aigrir.  Si  je  dois  vivre  de  pommes- 
de-terre,  ou  meme  mourir  de  faim,  tu  me  verras  toujours  devoue 
jusqu’k  la  mort.  Celles-ci  ne  sont  pas  de  vaines  paroles ; je  suis 
pret  k les  soutenir  dans  une  pauvre  cabane  ou  sur  le  lit  d’un 
hopital.” 

“ Lundi. 

u T’ai-je  dit  que  j’avais  trouv£  ici-meme  un  locataire  etudiant  la 
botanique  a ‘ l’herbarium  ’ tous  les  jours,  et  qu’en  nous  promenant 
ensemble  au  jardin,  les  soirs,  il  m’apprend  les  noms  des  arbres  qui 
ne  sont  pas  indiquds.  J’ai  aussi  des  fleurs  sur  ma  fenetre : je  t’en 
donne  une.  Je  ne  connais  pas  le  langage  des  fleurs,  mais  si  celle-ci 
ne  te  dit  pas  que  je  t’aime  beaucoup — beaucoup  — elle  interprete 
bien  mal  mes  sentiments. 

“ J’ai  lu  un  peu  du  livre  de  Max  Muller  sur  l’dtude  comparative 
des  langues.  C’est  excessivement  curieux.  Tu  n’as  aucune  id£e 
de  combien  l’^tymologie  est  interessante  quand  elle  est  basde  sur 
la  connaissance  de  tant  d’idiomes ; on  peut  tracer  la  parente  les 
mots  d’une  maniere  ^tonnante;  les  changements  dans  la  fa9on  de 
les  dcrire  ont  pour  resultat  de  les  denaturer  tellement  que  nous 
avons  beaucoup  de  peine  a les  reconnaitre  sans  retracer  toute  leur 
histoire  dans  la  litterature.  Mr.  Max  Muller  retrace  ainsi,  d’une 
maniere  ing^nieuse,  mais  bien  convaincante,  l’usage  des  mots  pour 
arriver  k leurs  racines  primitives,  et  puis  il  forme  des  theories 
d’apres  ces  comparaisons  — qui  sont  au  moins  toujours  intd- 
ressantes.  Ce  qu’il  y a de  remarquable  c’est  qu’on  retrouve  les 
memes  mots  dans  les  endroits  les  plus  eloignes,  des  mots  Anglais 
et  Fra^ais  qui  ont  leur  origine  dans  le  Sanskrit ; et  de  meme  pour 
d’autres  idiomes.  Max  Muller  differe  des  philologues  anciens  en 
ceci  que  tandis  qu’ils  etudiaient  seulement  les  langues  classiques, 
lui  trouve  la  lumiere  et  le  materiel  partout,  m6me  dans  le  Patois : 
ainsi  le  Proven9al  lui  a etd  indispensable  et  bien  d’autres  langues 
encore  que  les  amateurs  des  classiques  negligent  gdndralement.” 

This  interest  in  languages  grew  with  years.  When  at 
Sens,  we  studied  Italian  together,  but  my  increasing  deafness 


316 


MEMOIR. 


made  me  abandon  it  on  account  of  the  pronunciation,  whilst 
my  husband,  on  the  contrary,  made  it  a point  to  read  some 
pages  of  it  every  day,  and  even  to  write  his  diary  in  that 
language.  Later  still,  he  used  to  send  to  Florence  some 
literary  compositions  to  be  corrected.  After  the  marriage  of 
his  daughter,  he  used  occasionally  to  ask  his  son-in-law,  M. 
Raillard,  for  lessons  in  German,  and  had  even  undertaken  to 
write,  with  his  collaboration,  a work  on  philology  which  was 
to  have  been  entitled,  “ Words  on  their  Travels,  and  Stay-at- 
Home  Words,”  which  his  unexpected  death  cut  short.  In 
the  afternoon  of  the  day  on  which  he  died,  as  he  was  coming 
back  home  from  the  Louvre  in  a tram-car,  he  took  out  of  his 
pocket  a volume  of  Virgil,  and  read  it  the  whole  way.  “I 
furbish  up  my  Latin  and  Greek  when  on  a steamer  or  in 
omnibuses,”  he  said  to  me;  “it  prevents  my  being  annoyed 
by  the  loss  of  time.  ” 

“ Jeudi  soir. 

“ Je  suis  retournd  chez  Seeley  oil  on  m’a  traite  d’une  fa9on  tout- 
k-fait  delicate;  le  Professeur  est  un  des  hommes  les  plus  sympa- 
thiques  que  j’aie  rencontres.  Je  t’en  parlerai  plus  longuement  de 
vive  voix,  et  quant  k son  frere  Richmond  je  n’ai  jamais  connu 
quelqu’un  avec  qui  je  m’entende  aussi  facilement.  II  y a une 
chose  bien  charmante  en  lui,  c’est  que,  bien  qu’il  soit  k la  t6te 
d’une  grande  maison,  il  n’a  jamais  l’air  presse  et  vous  ecoute  avec 
une  patience  parfaite. 

“ Ce  que  tu  me  dis  de  ‘ mon  courage  au  travail  et  k la  lutte  * me 
paye  pour  bien  des  heures  de  besogne.  Tout  ce  qui  me  decourage 
parfois,  c’est  ma  faible  sante  qui  m’oblige  souvent  k paraitre  pares- 
seux  sous  peine  d’etre  malade. 

“ II  me  tarde  tant  de  te  re  voir  que  je  suis  comme  un  pauvre 
prisonnier  en  pays  Stranger,  loin  de  la  Dame  de  ses  pens^es.  Alors, 
tu  sais,  il  faut  m’dcrire  et  embrasser  les  enfants  pour  moi.” 

“ Vendredi. 

“ J’ai  dte  ddsole  de  ne  pas  pouvoir  t’^crire  aujourd’hui  ; il  est 
maintenant  1 h.  du  matin.  Je  vais  bien , mais  je  suis  accabld  de 
travaux  et  pourtant  je  veux  partir  bientot ; je  finirai  k la  maison. 
Aujourd’hui  j’ai  terming  mon  article  juste  k temps  pour  l’impres- 
sion.  Comme  notre  ane  ‘ Je  dors  debout’  ; aujourdhui  je  tombais 
presque  de  sommeil  dans  les  rues  de  Londres. 

“ Les  travaux  sur  l’eau-f orte  sont  terminus  cette  fois.  A bientot ! ” 


MEMOIR . 


317 


“22  Rue  de  l’Ouest  Paris.  Lundi. 

“ Je  suis  arriv^  hier  k 5 h.  du  soir.  Je  ne  suis  pas  du  tout  fatigue , 
ce  qui  serable  indiquer  une  augmentation  de  force,  car  tu  sais  que 
les  longs  voyages  me  fatiguent  gdndralement  beaucoup.  Je  suis 
alle  ce  matin  des  8 h.  chez  Delatre  oti.  j’ai  fait  tirer  mes  planches. 
On  fait  le  tirage  de  suite  et  les  livraisons  paraitront  cette  semaine. 

“ Quant  k mes  pauvres  enfants,  je  suis  ddsol^  de  les  savoir 
malades,  mais  ta  lettre  m’encourage  k esp^rer  qu’ils  sont  en  bonne 
voie  de  convalescence.  Tu  as  du  avoir  un  temps  difficile  k passer 
ainsi  tout  seule : chhre  petite  femme,  je  crois  que  si  j’y  avais  ete 
c’eut  ete  plus  facile  pour  toi : les  enfants  de  mon  ami  Pearce  sont 
egalement  malades  de  la  scarlatine. 

“ Hier  soir  j’ai  dine  chez  Froment  [the  artist  who  paints  such 
beautiful  decorative  works  for  Sevres]  ; ce  matin  j’ai  dejeune  chez 
Froment,  ce  soir  j’y  dine,  et  ainsi  de  suite.” 

M.  Froment  had  been  most  hospitable  to  both  of  us  dur- 
ing our  stay  in  Paris;  he  had  given  us  a day  at  Sevres,  and 
had  shown  us  the  Manufacture  in  all  its  details.  He  was 
a widower,  and  inconsolable  for  the  loss  of  his  wife,  whose 
memory  was  as  sacred  to  him  as  religion.  His  two  daughters 
were  at  home ; the  eldest  watching  maternally  over  the  younger 
sister,  who,  however,  died  a few  years  later.  M.  Froment’s 
feelings,  perceptions,  and  tastes  were  exquisitely  refined,  and 
my  husband  derived  both  benefit  and  pleasure  from  the 
friendly  intercourse.  In  after  years  Gilbert  met  M.  Froment 
occasionally,  and  found  him  always  full  of  kindness  and 
regard. 

After  nursing  the  children  through  scarlatina  I caught  it 
myself,  and  when  my  husband  knew  of  it,  he  wrote:  — 

“ I write  just  to  say  how  sorry  I am  not  to  be  able  to  set  off  at 
once , and  be  at  your  bedside.  I shall  certainly  not  be  later  than 
Saturday.  I am  of  course  very  busy,  and  have  no  time  for  letter- 
writing. I have  seen  Docteur  Dereims  to-day,  and  told  him  of 
your  illness.  He  insists  on  the  necessity  of  the  greatest  care  dur- 
ing your  convalescence.  You  must  especially  avoid  cold  drinks,  as 
highly  dangerous. 

“ Things  are  going  on  as  I wish  for  my  book  on  Etching.  I am 
getting  hold  of  plates  which  alone  would  make  it  valuable. 
Pray  take  care  of  yourself.  I wish  I were  with  you.” 


318 


MEMOIR. 


On  the  following  day : — 

“ I am  very  sorry  to  hear  you  had  such  a bad  night ; but  from 
all  1 can  hear  from  Dr.  Dereims  you  are  only  going  through  the 
usual  course  of  the  illness.  I will  be  with  you  on  Saturday  without 
fail.  You  may  count  upon  me  as  upon  an  attentive,  though  not,  I 
fear,  a very  skilful  nurse.  But  I will  try,  like  some  other  folks,  to 
make  up  in  talk  what  I lack  in  professional  skill.  I am  tolerably 
well,  but  rather  upset  by  this  news  from  Pre-Charmoy.  I could 
not  sleep  much  last  night. 

“ I am  going  to  the  exhibition  to-day,  and  will  be  thinking  of 
little  wife  all  the  time.  I have  met  with  a quantity  of  very  fine  paper 
for  etching,  of  French  manufacture,  and  have  obtained  Macmillan’s 
authority  to  purchase  it  for  the  text  also.  It  will  be  a splendid 
publication.  I feel  greater  and  greater  hopes  about  that  book. 

“ Only  forty-eight  hours  of  separation  from  the  time  I write.” 

The  day  after : — 

“ Enfin  il  y a bien  peu  de  chose  k faire  a mes  planches,  et  j’esp&re 
que  dans  un  jour  ce  sera  termine. 

“ J’ai  beaucoup  de  choses  k te  dire  mais  ce  sera  pour  nos  bonnes 
causeries  intimes.  Je  voyagerai  toute  la  nuit  de  vendredi  afin 
d’arriver  samedi  dans  la  matinee.  Quand  je  pense  a toi  et  aux 
enfants,  a la  petite  maison,  a la  petite  riviere  et  k tous  les  details  de 
cette  delicieuse  existence  que  nous  passons  ensemble,  il  me  faut 
beaucoup  de  courage  pour  rester  ici  seul  k terminer  mon 
travail.” 

When  my  husband  reached  home,  I was  still  in  bed,  and 
unwilling  to  let  him  come  to  me  for  fear  of  infection;  but  he 
would  not  hear  of  keeping  away.  “ I never  catch  anything,” 
he  said  gayly,  “don’t  be  anxious  on  my  account;”  and  he 
insisted  upon  sleeping  on  a little  iron  bedstead  in  the  dressing- 
room  close  to  our  bedroom,  to  nurse  me  in  the  night. 

He  soon  recovered  his  usual  health,  with  occasional  troubles 
of  the  nervous  system;  but  he  had  grown  careful  about  the 
premonitory  symptoms,  and  used  to  grant  himself  a holiday 
whenever  they  occurred.  Having  been  told  whilst  in  London 
that  novel- writing  paid  better  than  any  other  literary  produc- 
tion , he  now  turned  his  thoughts  towards  the  possibility  of 
using  his  past  experience  for  the  composition  of  a story.  It 
would  be  a pleasant  change  from  criticism,  he  said,  and  would 


MEMOIR. 


319 


exercise  different  mental  faculties.  Very  soon  the  plan  of 
“ Wenderholme  ” was  formed,  and  we  entertained  good  hopes 
of  its  success. 

In  the  month  of  September,  1866,  the  wedding  of  my  sister 
Caroline  took  place  quietly  at  our  house,  Mr.  Hamerton  being 
looked  upon  as  the  head  of  the  family  since  the  death  of  my 
father.  Although  he  prized  his  privacy  above  everything 
else,  he  was  ready  to  sacrifice  it  as  a token  of  his  affection  for 
his  sister-in-law,  and  went  through  all  the  necessary  trouble 
and  expense  for  her  sake.  She  married  a young  man  who 
had  formed  an  attachment  for  her  ever  since  she  was  fifteen 
years  old, — M.  Pelletier,  — and  they  went  to  live  at  Algiers, 
where  he  was  then  Coinmis  d’ Economat  at  the  Lycee.  It 
was  agreed  that  they  should  spend  the  long  vacation  with  us 
every  year. 

There  are  a good  many  days  of  frost  in  a Morvandau  winter, 
and  the  snow  often  remains  deep  on  the  ground  for  several 
weeks  together;  there  was  even  more  than  usual  in  1867,  so 
my  husband  devised  a new  amusement  for  the  boys  by  show- 
ing them  how  to  make  a giant.  Every  time  they  came  home, 
they  rolled  up  huge  balls  of  snow  which  were  left  out  to  be 
frozen  hard,  then  sawn  into  large  bricks  to  build  up  the 
monster.  The  delight  of  the  boys  may  be  imagined.  Every 
new  limb  was  greeted  with  enthusiastic  shouts,  they  thought 
of  nothing  else;  and,  perched  on  ladders,  their  little  hands 
protected  by  woollen  gloves-,  they  worked  like  slaves,  and 
could  hardly  be  got  to  eat  their  meals.  But  how  should  I 
describe  the  final  scene,  when  in  the  dark  evening  two  night- 
lights  shone  out  of  the  giant’s  eyes,  and  flames  came  out  of 
its  monstrous  mouth?  ...  It  was  nothing  less  than  wild 
ecstasy.  Their  father  also  taught  them  skating;  there  was 
very  little  danger  except  from  falls,  for  they  began  in  the 
meadows  about  the  house,  where  they  skated  over  shallow 
pools  left  in  the  hollows  by  rain-water  or  melted  snow;  but 
when  they  became  proficient,  we  used  to  go  to  the  great  pond 
at  Varolles.  As  my  husband  has  said  in  one  of  his  letters, 
all  that  was  very  good  for  him. 

In  January,  1868,  he  left  again  for  London,  and  felt  but 


320 


MEMOIR. 


little  inconvenience  on  the  way  and  during  his  stay.  Know- 
ing that  I should  he  anxious,  he  formed  the  habit  of  sending 
me  frequent  short  pencil  notes,  to  say  how  he  was.  I give 
here  a few  of  them : — 

“Londres.  Vendredi  soir. 

“ J’ai  £te  trfes  occupe  aujourd’hui  au  musee  Britannique.  De- 
main  j’irai  voir  des  expositions.  Je  compte  partir  dimanche  pour 
Paris.’* 

u Samedi  matin. 

“ J’ecris  dans  une  boutique.  Je  vais  bien.  Je  dine  au  Palais  de 
Cristal  avec  un  Club.” 

Samedi  soir. 

“ Je  vais  bien.  Pauvre  petit  Richard ! embrasse-le  bien  pour 
moi;  tu  as  du  etre  bien  inquiete.” 

This  was  about  a serious  accident  which  had  happened  to 
our  youngest  boy.  Whilst  at  play  with  his  brother  on  the 
terrace,  and  in  my  presence,  he  ran  his  head  against  a low 
wall,  and  was  felled  senseless  to  the  ground  by  the  force  of 
the  blow;  the  temple  was  cut  open,  and  his  blood  ran  over 
my  arm  and  dress  when  I lifted,  him  up,  apparently  lifeless. 
The  farmer’s  cart  drove  us  rapidly  to  Autun,  where  we  found 
our  doctor  in  bed  — it  was  ten  at  night.  The  wound  was 
dressed  and  sewn  up,  and  the  pain  brought  back  some  signs 
of  life.  I asked  if  I ought  to  take  a room  at  the  hotel  to 
secure  the  doctor’s  attendance  at  short  intervals,  but  I was 
told  that  blows  of  that  kind  were  either  fatal  or  of  little 
importance ; the  only  thing  to  be  done  was  to  keep  ice  on  the 
head  and  renew  it  constantly.  The  poor  child  seemed  to 
have  relapsed  into  an  insensible  state,  and  remained  so  all 
night.  In  the  early  morning,  however,  he  awoke  without 
fever,  and  was  quite  well  in  about  three  weeks. 

I had  asked  my  husband  to  take  the  opinion  of  an  aurist 
about  my  increasing  deafness,  and  he  tenderly  answered:  — 

“ Sdrieusement  je  ne  crois  pas  que  ta  surdite  augmente.  Avant 
de  te  rendre  compte  combien  tu  £tais  sourde,  tu  ne  savais  pas  quels 
bruits  restaient  pour  toi  inaperc^us.  Maintenant  tu  fais  de  tristes 


MEMOIR. 


321 


decouvertes ; moi  qui  suis  mieux  plac£  pour  t’observer,  puisque 
j’entends  ce  que  tu  n’entends  pas,  je  sais  que  tu  es  tres  sourde,  mais 
je  ne  yois  pas  d’augmentation  depuis  tr&s  longtemps  et  je  crois  que 
tu  resteras  k peu  prks  comme  tu  es.  J’en  ai  parle  aujourd’hui  avec 
Macmillan  dont  une  amie  ete  comme  toi  pendant  longtemps  et  qui 
dprouve  maintenant  une  amelioration  graduelle,  mais  trhs  sensible. 
Tache  surtout  de  ne  pas  trop  t’attrister,  parcequ’il  parait  que  le 
chagrin  a une  tendance  a augmenter  la  surdite.  Quant  k parler 
d’aimer  mieux  mourir,  tu  oublies  que  mon  affection  pour  toi  est  bien 
au-dessus  de  toute  infirmite  corporelle,  et  que  nous  aurons  toujours 
beaucoup  de  bonheur  k etre  ensemble  ; du  moins  je  parle  pour  moi. 
Et  meme  si  ta  surdite  augmentait  beaucoup,  nous  aurions  toujours 
le  moyen  de  communiquer  ensemble  en  parlant  tres  haut : en 
France  nous  parlerions  anglais,  et  en  Angleterre,  fran9ais.,, 

He  sympathized  so  much  with  my  trouble  that,  unlike 
many  other  husbands,  who  would  have  been  annoyed  at  hav- 
ing to  take  a deaf  wife  into  society,  he  urged  me  to  go  with 
him  everywhere,  kindly  repeated  what  I had  not  heard,  and 
explained  what  I misunderstood.  He  always  tried  his  best 
to  keep  away  from  me  the  feeling  of  solitude,  so  common  to 
those  who  are  deprived  of  hearing. 

Just  as  I was  rejoicing  over  the  thought  that  my  husband 
had  prosperously  accomplished  this  last  journey,  I had  a 
letter  from  him,  dated  “Hotel  du  Nord,  Amiens,”  in  which 
he  said  he  was  obliged  to  stop  there  till  he  felt  better,  for  he 
could  eat  absolutely  nothing,  and  was  very  weak.  The  worst 
was  that  I dared  not  leave  my  poor  little  Kichard  yet,  to  go 
to  his  father : the  wound  on  the  temple  was  not  healed,  and 
the  doctor  had  forbidden  all  excitement,  for  fear  of  brain - 
fever  after  the  shock.  I was  terribly  perplexed  when  the 
following  letter  reached  me : — 

“Hotel  de  l’Aigle  Noir,  Fontainebleau.  Mercredi . 

“ Tu  apprendras  avec  plaisir  que  j’ai  regagne  un  pen  d’appdtit 
hier  soir.  J’ai  mang6  un  diner  qui  m’a  fait  tant  de  bien  que  ce  ne 
serait  pas  cher  k une  centaine  de  francs.  Cet  hdtel  est  tres  propre 
et  la  cuisine  y est  faite  convenablement  sans  melange  de  sauces. 
Toute  la  journde  de  lundi  k Amiens,  j’ai  vecu  d’un  petit  morceau 
de  pain  d’epices.  Le  soir  k 10  h.  £ j’ai  mange  une  tranche  de  jam- 
bon.  Je  suis  parti  a minuit  pour  Paris  oil  je  suis  arrive  a 4 h.  du 

21 


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MEMOIR. 


matin.  Pour  ne  pas  me  rendre  plus  malade,  je  n’ai  pas  voulu 
rester  dans  la  grande  ville  que  j’ai  traversee  d’une  gare  k l’autre 
immediatement.  J’ai  pris  une  tasse  de  chocolat  et  ecrit  quelques 
lettres  en  attendant  le  train  pour  Fontainebleau  qui  est  parti  de  la 
gare  k 8 h.  C’etait  un  train  demi-express,  mais  je  l’ai  bien  sup- 
ports. En  arrivant  k Fontainebleau  je  n’ai  pas  pu  dejeuner  et  je 
n’ai  rien  mangS  jusqu’au  soir  quand  j’ai  bien  dinS.  C’est  tres 
economique  de  ne  pas  pouvoir  manger.  J’ai  sautS  plusieurs  repas, 
qui  par  consequent  ne  figurent  nullement  dans  les  notes. 

“ Hier  soir  je  me  suis  promene  un  peu  dans  les  jardins  du  palais 
qui  est  lui-meme  vaste,  mais  c’est  un  amas  de  constructions  lourdes 
et  de  mauvais  gout,  du  moins  en  general.  Cela  me  fait  l’effet 
d’une  caserne  ajoutde  k une  petite  ville.  Les  jardins,  les  arbres 
sont  magnifiques.  Je  me  trouve  bien  ce  matin,  mais  un  peu  faible 
par  suite  du  peu  de  nourriture  que  j’ai  pu  prendre  depuis  quelques 
jours.  Enfin,  je  suis  en  train  de  me  refaire.  Je  desire  vivement 
etre  chez  moi,  et  j’y  arriverai  aussitot  que  possible  sans  me  rendre 
malade.  Embrasse  pour  moi  les  enfants  et  ta  mere ; k toi  de  tout 
cceur.” 

He  reached  home  safely,  but  the  fatigue  and  weakness 
seemed  to  last  longer  than  previously,  and  insomnia  fre- 
quently recurred.  He  did  his  best  to  insure  refreshing  sleep 
by  taking  more  exercise  in  the  open  air,  but  it  became  clear 
that  he  must  abandon  work  at  night,  because  when  his  brain 
had  been  working  on  some  particular  subject,  he  could  not 
quiet  it  at  once  by  going  to  bed,  and  it  went  on  — in  spite 
of  himself  — to  a state  of  great  cerebral  excitement,  during 
which  production  was  rapid  and  felicitous  — therefore  tempt- 
ing; but  it  was  paid  for  too  dearly  by  the  nervous  exhaustion 
surely  following  it.  It  was  a great  sacrifice  on  his  part, 
because  he  liked  nothing  better  than  to  wait  till  every  one 
had  retired  and  the  house  was  all  quiet  and  silent,  to  sit 
down  to  his  desk  under  the  lamp,  and  write  undisturbed  — 
and  without  fear  of  disturbance  — till  dawn  put  out  the  stars. 

He  now  changed  his  rules,  and  devoted  the  evenings  to 
reading. 


MEMOIR 


323 


CHAPTER  IX. 

1868. 

Studies  of  Animals.  — A Strange  Visitor.  — Illness  at  Amiens.  — Resig- 
nation of  post  on  the  “ Saturday  Review.”  — Nervous  seizure  in  rail- 
way train.  — Mrs.  Craik.  — Publication  of  “ Etching  and  Etchers.”  — 
Tennyson.  — Growing  reputation  in  America. 

In  the  course  of  the  years  1865-67  Mr.  Hamerton  had 
made  the  acquaintance  of  several  leading  French  artists, — 
Dore,  Corot,  Daubigny,  Courbet,  Landelle,  Lalanne,  Rajon, 
Brunet-Debaines,  Flameng,  Jacquemart,  etc.  The  etchers  he 
frequently  met  at  Cadart’s,  where  they  came  to  see  proofs  of 
their  etchings;  the  painters  he  went  to  see  for  the  preparation 
of  his  “ Contemporary  French  Painters  ” and  “ Painting  in 
France.”  Together  with  these  works  he  had  begun  his  first 
novel,  “ Wenderholme,”  and  had  been  contemplating  for 
some  time  the  possibility  of  lecturing  on  aesthetics.  I was 
adverse  to  this  last  plan  on  account  of  his  nervous  state, 
which  did  not  seem  to  allow  so  great  an  excitement  as  that  of 
appearing  in  public  at  stated  times;  I persuaded  him  at  least 
to  delay  the  realization  of  the  project  till  he  had  quite  recov- 
ered his  health,  despite  the  invitations  he  had  received  both 
from  England  and  America.  He  continued  to  paint  from 
nature,  with  the  intention  of  resigning  his  post  on  the 
“ Saturday  Review  ” in  case  of  success,  but  now  devoted  more 
of  his  time  to  the  study  of  animals,  principally  oxen,  as  he 
liked  to  have  models  at  hand  without  leaving  home. 

Desiring  to  be  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  anatomy  of 
the  ox,  he  bought  one  which  had  died  at  the  farm,  and  had 
it  boiled  in  parts  till  the  flesh  was  separated  from  the  bones, 
which  were  then  exposed  to  dry  in  the  sunshine.  When 
thoroughly  dried  they  were  kept  in  the  garret,  and  succes- 
sively taken  to  the  studio  to  serve  for  a series  of  drawings,  of 
which  I still  possess  several.  As  we  had  a goat,  and  some- 


324 


MEMOIR. 


times  kids,  he  also  made  numerous  sketches  from  them,  as 
well  as  from  ducks,  sheep  and  lambs,  hens  and  chickens. 
There  was  also  a Waterloo  veteran  who  came  weekly  as  a 
model,  and  who  was  painted  in  a monk’s  dress,  which  my 
husband  used  afterwards,  and  for  a long  time,  as  a dressing- 
gown. 

This  habit  of  sketching  animals  whenever  he  had  a chance 
gave  rise  to  some  amusing  incidents  before  our  peasant  neigh- 
bors knew  that  he  “ painted  portraits  of  dumb  beasts,  as  well 
as  of  Christians.”  Some  farmers’  wives,  alarmed  at  the  sight 
of  odd  pennies  in  the  pockets  of  their  offspring,  accused  them 
of  pilfering,  but  on  being  told  that  the  “ gros  sous  ” had  been 
given  them  by  “ le  pere  anglais,”  came  to  our  house  to  ascer- 
tain how  and  why;  for,  unlike  the  people  of  the  South,  they 
would  not  have  tolerated  begging.  They  were  quieted  by 
the  assurance  that  the  money  had  been  honestly  earned  by  the 
children  for  holding  their  goat  or  donkey  whilst  its  portrait 
was  taken;  nay,  they  even  felt  a little  proud  that  an  animal  of 
theirs  should  have  been  thought  worthy  of  such  an  honor. 

Etching  in  all  its  forms  was  pursued  at  the  same  time  with 
lithography  and  photography;  even  a new  kind  of  transparent 
etching  ground  was  invented  by  Mr.  Hamerton,  which  made 
it  possible  for  etchers  to  see  the  work  already  done  upon  a 
plate  after  having  it  grounded  again  for  correction  or  addi- 
tional work. 

A strange  incident  occurred  during  this  winter.  My  hus- 
band’s rising  reputation  had,  it  appears,  given  to  many  people 
a desire  for  his  personal  acquaintance,  or  for  intercourse  by 
correspondence.  The  first  desire  brought  him  many  unex- 
pected visitors,  the  second  quite  an  appreciable  increase  of 
work,  as  he  hardly  ever  left  a letter  unanswered.  To  give 
the  reader  an  instance  of  the  extraordinary  notions  enter- 
tained by  some  people,  I shall  relate  the  true  history  of  one 
visitor  amongst  others.  Some  letters  at  short  intervals,  from 
England,  signed  — let  us  say  — Beamish,  mentioned  a myste- 
rious project  which  could  not  possibly  be  explained  otherwise 
than  by  word  of  mouth,  and  which  might  be  both  profitable 
and  agreeable  to  Mr.  Hamerton,  if  realized.  He  was  asked 


MEMOIR. 


325 


to  call  upon  the  correspondent  for  an  explanation  if  he  should 
happen  to  go  to  London  soon;  if  not,  Mr.  Beamish  begged 
leave  to  come  over  and  see  him.  Of  course  the  leave  was 
given,  and  the  gentleman  having  written  that  on  such  a day 
he  would  be  at  such  an  hotel  in  Autun,  Gilbert  went  to  fetch 
him  in  the  pony-carriage  — for  Dort-debout  had  tired  out  our 
patience,  and  had  been  replaced  by  a beautiful  and  energetic 
little  pony  called  Cocote. 

When  we  met  Mr.  Beamish,  we  found  him  a most  prepos- 
sessing young  man,  of  elegant  manners  and  refined  speech;  in 
short,  a gentleman.  He  begged  me  to  allow  his  portmanteau 
to  be  placed  in  the  carriage;  and  as  I observed  that  he  was 
not  expected  to  dress  for  our  family  dinner,  he  answered  that 
it  only  contained  papers  that  he  should  want. 

Two  other  friends,  understanding  English,  joined  us  at 
dinner.  The  conversation  was  animated,  but  Mr.  Beamish 
never  hinted  at  the  mysterious  project.  In  the  evening, 
engravings  and  etchings  were  shown  to  our  guest,  but  failed 
to  excite  his  interest,  for  he  soon  fell  asleep  on  the  sofa,  and 
let  our  friends  go  without  awaking.  Unwilling  to  disturb 
him,  we  remained  till  nearly  one  o’clock,  when  I decided  to 
retire,  whatever  happened  afterwards;  and  I was  so  tired  that 
after  going  to  bed  I never  awoke  till  morning,  when  I asked 
my  husband  at  what  time  Mr.  Beamish  had  gone.  “ Gone,” 
he  answered;  “ why,  I don’t  know  that  he  has  gone  at  all,  for 
I left  him  after  three,  just  where  he  was.”  I hardly  dared 
peep  into  the  drawing-room;  however,  it  was  empty;  but 
when  the  breakfast-bell  was  rung,  Mr.  Beamish  came  in  un- 
concernedly to  have  his  share  of  the  simple  meal,  during 
which  he  talked  pleasantly  and  intelligently  of  his  experi- 
ences in  India,  where  he  had  spent  the  greater  part  of  eigh- 
teen years.  Nothing  was  said  of  the  project,  and  after  vainly 
waiting  for  some  mention  of  it,  my  husband  returned  to  his 
study,  after  letting  Mr.  Beamish  know  that  he  was  not  to  be 
disturbed  till  eleven  o’clock,  for  it  was  the  time  of  his  morn- 
ing work.  “Very  well,”  answered  our  guest;  “meanwhile  I 
shall  put  my  books  and  papers  in  order.”  At  the  same  time 
he  requested  me  to  send  rather  a large  table  into  the  room 


326 


MEMOIR. 


where  he  had  slept  (it  was  the  room  in  which  his  portman- 
teau had  been  put) , and  to  tell  the  servants  to  be  careful  not 
to  interfere  in  any  way  with  what  he  would  leave  upon  it, 
not  even  to  dust,  so  long  as  he  remained  with  us.  I then 
believed  that  Gilbert  had  invited  him  to  stay  some  time, 
but  I was  undeceived  in  the  course  of  the  day,  and  told  that 
the  mysterious  project  had  been  unfolded  at  last,  and  was  a 
proposition  that  he  should  undertake  a journey  to  Palestine 
in  the  company  of  Mr.  Beamish,  to  join  Holman  Hunt,  who 
was  painting  studies  in  the  Holy  Land.  “ But  what  made 
you  think  I was  ready  to  undertake  such  a pilgrimage  ? ” 
Mr.  Hamerton  had  asked  in  great  astonishment.  “ Because 
I read  that  you  liked  camping  out,”  was  the  reply;  “and 
thought  also  that,  being  an  artist,  you  would  be  glad  to  meet 
with  Holman  Hunt,  who,  like  you  in  the  Highlands,  works 
directly  from  nature.  I thought,  moreover,  that,  as  I intend 
to  go  myself,  you  would  "be  agreeable  and  profitable  society.” 

Although  my  husband  had  declined  to  give  the  slightest 
consideration  to  this  plan,  Mr.  Beamish  still  remained,  and 
vaguely  hinted  that  a still  more  mysterious  project  detained 
him  at  Autun. 

He  went  on  foot,  alone,  to  the  college,  on  three  successive 
afternoons,  begged  to  see  our  boys,  and  tipped  them  so  gener- 
ously that  the  principal  thought  it  his  duty  to  ask  their 
father  whether  he  had  authorized  these  visits  — clearly  imply- 
ing that  he  doubted  the  soundness  of  the  visitor’s  mind. 

We  had  learned  in  the  course  of  conversation  that  our  guest 
was  of  a benevolent  and  charitable  disposition,  and  that  he 
had  spent  much  money  in  India  in  founding  hospital-beds 
for  poor  women,  whose  sufferings  he  warmly  compassionated. 
He  was  also  full  of  sympathy  for  the  Indian  people,  and  spoke 
of  their  wrongs  not  without  a certain  degree  of  excitement, 
but  still  in  a manner  to  arouse  our  interest.  Altogether, 
although  he  was  a self-imposed  guest,  we  had  already  learned 
to  like  him,  and  were  unwilling  to  remind  him,  with  ever  so 
little  rudeness,  that  he  was  in  the  way.  My  husband  said 
that  his  conduct  might  be  explained  by  the  fact  that  he  had 
lived  so  long  in  India,  where  the  dwellings  of  Europeans  are 


MEMOIR. 


327 


often  at  great  distances  from  each  other,  and  where  a visitor 
is  always  made  at  home  and  welcome;  that  Mr.  Beamish  was 
only  acting  as  he  had  been  accustomed  to  do  for  the  greater 
part  of  his  life,  for  he  was  still  a young  man  of  about  thirty- 
six. 

After  about  a week’s  stay,  he  began  to  talk  of  leaving  us 
within . a short  time , but  did  not  say  when  — that  would 
depend  on  certain  circumstances.  However,  on  a bitterly 
cold  evening,  with  the  snow  deep  on  the  ground,  he  requested 
to  be  driven  to  Autun,  and  took  a friendly  leave  of  us  all 
without  explanation.  But  the  principal  of  the  college  related 
the  following  strange  story  to  Mr.  Hamerton : — 

“Your  friend,  Mr.  Beamish,  whom  I had  met  at  your 
house,  came  here  under  pretext  of  seeing  your  sons,  but  called 
upon  me,  and  asked  point-blank  if  I would  give  him  my  help 
in  a charitable  deed  of  some  importance.  * What  is  the 
nature  of  the  deed?  ’ was  my  first  question.  ‘ The  salvation 
of  a soul.’  ‘ In  what  form?  ’ I did  not  get  a direct  answer, 
but  I was  told  that  the  idea  had  sprung  from  religious  motives, 
and  that  knowing  my  strong  attachment  to  religion  — though 
it  was  the  Boman  Catholic  religion  — he  hoped  I should  have 
sufficient  moral  courage  to  help  him  in  his  deed  of  mercy  — 
in  fact  he  had  resolved  to  reclaim  a fallen  woman.  Vainly 
did  I attempt  to  turn  him  from  his  generous  but  impractica- 
ble resolution.  He  threatened  to  act  alone  if  I refused  him 
the  sanction  of  my  presence,  but  he  hoped  that  the  Aumonier 
would  see  his  action  in  its  true  light,  and  putting  himself 
above  popular  suspicion,  would  accompany  him  ‘ to  the  very 
den  of  sin  to  offer  salvation  to  a lost  but  repentant  sheep.1 
It  was  useless  to  try  to  make  him  understand  that  it  was 
impossible  for  the  Aumonier  to  risk  his  character,  even  with 
the  hope  of  doing  good,  and  at  last  Mr.  Beamish  expressed 
a desire  to  meet  him  in  my  presence  on  the  morrow.  Our 
worthy  Aumonier  was  horrified  at  the  idea  of  the  kind  of 
sinners  he  would  have  to  meet,  and  declined  to  have  anything 
to  do  with  the  wildly  charitable  scheme.” 

The  next  news  was  brought  to  Autun  four  days  later  by  the 
woman  whom  poor  Mr.  Beamish  thought  he  had  rescued  at 


328 


MEMOIR . 


the  cost  of  four  hundred  francs  for  her  liberation  from  debt, 
and  about  two  hundred  more  for  decent  clothing.  He  had 
taken  her  as  far  as  Dijon,  where  he  had  left  her  in  some  kind 
of  reformatory;  but  after  enjoying  the  change,  and  with  her 
purse  replenished  to  carry  her  through  the  first  difficulties  of 
an  honest  life,  she  hastened  back  to  the  old  haunt  to  gibe  and 
jeer  at  her  benefactor. 

Another  queer  visitor  was  an  English  gentleman,  past 
middle  age,  who  could  never  find  his  way  back  to  our  house, 
but  invariably  appeared  at  meal-times  in  the  dining-room  of 
some  neighbor,  who  had  to  escort  him  to  Pre-Charmoy. 

The  opening  of  the  Academy  exhibition  had  come  round 
again,  and  Mr.  Hamerton  had  to  go  and  criticise  it  as  usual; 
but  after  reaching  Amiens,  he  felt  so  poorly  that  he  resolved 
to  send  his  resignation  to  the  tl  Saturday  Review,  ” and  to 
return  home  as  quickly  as  he  could.  Here  is  his  letter  to 
me : — 

“ Hotel  dd  Nord,  Amiens.  Dimanche. 

“Bonne  Cherie. — Je  suis  arrive  a Amiens  samedi  matin  de 
bonne  heure,  ayant  l’intention  de  me  reposer  un  peu  a l’hdtel  et 
puis  de  continuer  moil  voyage  le  tantot,  mais  en  me  levant  j’ai 
senti  que  j’avais  besoin  d’un  repos  un  peu  plus  prolonge  apres  les 
fatigues  de  Paris.  Le  plus  ennuyeux  c’est  que  je  peux  k peine 
manger  quelque  chose.  Comme  ce  manque  d’appetit  m’aifaiblera 
inevitablement  s’il  continue  longtemps  et  que  l’affaiblissement 
amenerait  probablement  un  mauvais  etat  du  systkme  nerveux,  je 
crois  que  le  plus  sage  serait  de  renoncer  pour  cette  fois  au  voyage 
en  Angleterre  et  de  revenir  au  Pre-Charmoy  comme  un  faux  billet 
indigne  de  circuler.  Mon  intention  est  done  de  retourner,  et  pour 
changer  je  prendrai  probablement  la  ligne  de  Dijon,  en  m’arrGtant 
un  jour  k Sens  pour  voir  Challard.  [An  artist  who  had  copied 
some  drawings  of  Jean  Cousin  for  the  “ Fine  Arts  Quarterly 
Review.”] 

“ Comme  je  te  1’ai  promis,  je  fais  ce  qui  me  semble  etre  le  plus 
sage.  Je  reviendrai  le  plus  vite  que  je  pourrai  sans  hasarder  ma 
santA 

“ J’ai  loue  un  petit  bateau  hier  avec  lequel  j’ai  explore  la  riviere 
d’ Amiens  — la  Somme  — en  haut  de  la  ville.  II  est  impossible 
d’imaginer  rien  de  plus  pittoresque.  II  y a une  grande  quantite 
de  petites  maisons  et  baraques  au  bord  de  l’eau  et  je  vais  prendre 


MEMOIR. 


329 


Ik  le  materiel  (Tune  eau-forte.  J’espere  que  cette  retraite  n’est  pas 
trop  ridicule.  Un  bon  general,  dit-on,  se  distingue  tout  autant 
dans  la  retraite  que  dans  l’avance ; et  comme  par  le  fait  il  y a 
manque  de  vivres  — puisque  je  ne  peux  pas  manger  — il  me 
semble  que  la  prudence  conseille  ce  que  les  Amdricains  appelaient 
‘ un  mouvement  strategique  quand  ils  avaient  ete  battus.” 

“Amiens.  Lundi  matin. 

“Comme  je  n’avais  pas  encore  regagne  d’app^tit  hier  j’ai  pense 
qu’il  serait  plus  sage  de  rester  ici  encore  un  peu  et  je  suis  alle 
canoter  sur  la  riviere. 

“Mr.  Cook  avec  une  grande  et  charmante  bonte  m’a  fait  des 
remontrances : il  me  dit  que  le  ton  de  ma  lettre  l’a  blesse  et  que 
mes  ‘ menaces  ’ lui  ont  fait  de  la  peine ; qu’il  n’a  jamais  manque 
de  largesse  envers  ses  ecrivains  et  que  l’excedent  de  mes  depenses 
en  livres,  voyages,  etc.  sera  toujours  defraye  par  la  Revue.  J’ai 
ete  reellement  touche  de  la  maniere  affectueuse  dont  il  m’a  fait  ses 
observations  auxquelles  il  a su  joindre  des  compliments,  en  me 
disant  que  j’avais  d^couvert  la  meilleure  fa9on  de  faire  la  revue 
des  expositions  et  que  mes  articles  sont  precisement  ce  qu’il  lui 
faut.  J’ai  repondu  que  quant  k la  peine  que  cela  avait  pu  lui 
faire,  je  le  regrettais  sinckrement,  mais  que  les  ‘ menaces’  ^taient 
tout  simplement  l’expression  d’une  resolution  tres  d^cidement 
prise,  et  dans  un  moment  oil  j’etais  k la  fois  trop  malade  et  trop 
press^  pour  proceder  avec  plus  de  formes. 

“ Comme  ma  promenade  sur  l’eau  m’a  fait  du  bien  hier  je  vais 
la  renouveler. 

“ Ton  mari,  qui  te  reverra  bientot.” 

I decided  at  once  to  go  to  him ; my  mother,  who  had  come 
to  stay  with  me  during  his  absence,  approved  my  resolution, 
and  undertook  the  management  of  the  house  and  the  care  of 
the  children : so  without  asking  for  his  leave,  I wrote  that  I 
was  on  my  way  to  Amiens. 

His  joy  was  great  when  he  saw  me,  and  his  progress  towards 
recovery  was  so  rapid  that  he  abandoned  the  idea  of  retracing 
his  steps,  and  encouraged  by  my  presence,  thought  he  could 
accomplish  the  journey  to  London  without  danger.  It  was  of 
great  importance  that  he  should  keep  his  post  on  the  “ Satur- 
day Review,”  because  it  was  his  only  regular  income,  every- 
thing else  being  uncertain;  and  we  knew  that  if  he  could 


330 


MEMOIR. 


undertake  the  work  again  it  would  be  readily  entrusted  to 
him. 

We  only  stayed  two  days  at  Amiens,  and  as  my  husband 
was  never  seasick  or  nervous  on  the  sea,  everything  went  on 
satisfactorily  so  far;  but  as  soon  as  we  had  left  Dover  for 
London,  I perceived  signs  of  uneasiness  in  his  behavior.  He 
closed  his  eyes  not  to  see  the  moving  objects  we  passed;  he 
uncovered  his  head,  which  seemed  burning  by  the  flushed 
face;  he  chafed  his  cold,  bloodless  hands,  and  shuffled  his 
feet  to  bring  back  circulation.  For  a long  time  he  attempted 
to  hide  these  alarming  symptoms  from  me,  but  I had  detected 
them  from  the  beginning;  his  eyes  had  a far-reaching  look 
and  unusual  steely  brilliancy;  the  expression  of  his  counte- 
nance was  hard-set,  rigid,  almost  defiant,  as  if  ready  to  over- 
throw any  obstacle  in  his  way;  and  indeed  it  was  the  case,  for 
unable  to  control  himself  any  longer,  he  got  up  and  told  me 
hoarsely  that  he  was  going  to  jump  out  of  the  train.  I took 
hold  of  his  hands,  and  said  I would  follow;  only  I entreated 
him  to  wait  a short  time,  as  we  were  so  near  a station.  I 
placed  myself  quite  close  to  the  door  of  the  railway  carriage, 
and  stood  between  it  and  him.  Happily  we  were  near  a 
station,  else  I don’t  know  what  might  have  happened;  he 
rushed  out  of  carriage  and  station  into  the  fields,  whilst  I 
followed  like  one  dazed  and  almost  heart-broken.  After  half- 
an-hour  he  lessened  his  pace,  and  turned  to  me  to  say,  “I 
think  it  is  going.”  I could  not  speak  for  fear  of  bursting 
into  tears,  but  I pressed  his  hand  in  mine  and  held  it  as  we 
continued  our  miserable  way  across  the  fields.  We  walked 
perhaps  two  hours,  at  the  end  of  which  Gilbert  said  tenderly, 
in  his  usual  voice:  “You  must  be  terribly  tired,  my  poor 
darling;  I think  I could  bear  to  rest  now;  we  may  try  to  sit 
down.”  We  sat  down  upon  a fallen  tree,  and  after  some 
minutes  he  told  me  that  if  I could  get  him  a glass  of  beer 
somewhere  it  would  bring  him  round.  I went  in  search  of 
an  inn  and  discovered  a closed  one,  for  it  was  Sunday  and 
the  time  of  afternoon  service.  Nevertheless  I knocked  so 
perse\eringly  that  a woman  came  forth,  incensed  by  my  perti- 
nacity, and  peremptorily  refused  with  indignation  any  kind 


MEMOIR. 


331 


of  drink : to  obtain  a bottle  of  beer  I had  to  take  an  oath  that 
it  was  for  a patient. 

The  glass  of  ale  at  once  calmed  and  revived  my  husband, 
and  when  the  bottle  had  been  emptied  — in  the  course  of  an 
hour  or  so  — he  was  himself  again  and  felt  hungry. 

We  did  not  know  the  place,  — it  was  Adisham;  we  had 
no  luggage,  and  as  to  resuming  our  journey  it  was  out  of  the 
question,  for  some  time  at  least.  So  I went  again  to  the  inn, 
and  asked  the  woman  if  she  could  give  us  a room.  “ No, 
there  was  not  one  ready;  and  then  it  was  so  suspicious,  people 
coming  like  that  through  the  fields  and  without  luggage.” 
I offered  to  pay  in  advance.  “ But  we  might  be  runaways.  ” 
My  husband  had  his  passport,  and  I explained  that  he  had 
been  taken  ill  suddenly,  and  that  our  luggage  could  be  sent 
to  us  from  London.  “ If  the  gentleman  were  to  die  here  it 
would  be  a great  trouble.”  I had  to  assure  her  that  it  was 
not  dangerous,  and  that  rest  only  was  required.  At  last  she 
consented  to  show  me  into  a very  clean,  freshly-papered  room, 
deprecating  volubly  the  absence  of  curtains  and  bedstead  in 
such  an  emergency,  but  promising  to  put  them  up  shortly  if 
we  remained  some  time. 

The  bedding  was  laid  upon  the  carpet;  the  mattresses  had 
just  undergone  a thorough  cleaning,  and  the  sheets  and 
counterpane  smelt  sweet.  When  night  came  we  were  thank- 
ful to  rest  our  tired  limbs  even  on  the  floor,  and  to  hope  that 
sleep  would  bury  in  oblivion  the  anguish  of  the  day,  at  least 
for  a while. 

Oh,  the  weary,  weary  time  spent  there,  without  work, 
without  books,  and  with  but  little  hope  of  better  days.  How 
should  we  get  out  of  it,  and  when?  ...  It  was  now  clear 
that  these  terrible  attacks  were  due  to  railway  travelling. 
Then  how  should  we  ever  get  home  again?  . . . 

Our  luggage  had  been  telegraphed  for  and  returned,  and  the 
appearance  of  the  trunks  had  evidently  inspired  some  con- 
fidence in  our  landlady.  Materially  we  were  comfortable 
enough:  a clean  bedroom,  a quiet,  rather  large  sitting-room 
(it  was  the  usual  public  dining-room,  but  it  being  early  in 
the  season , there  were  no  boarders  besides  ourselves) ; and  the 


332 


MEMOIR . 


cookery,  though  simple  and  unvaried,  was  good  of  its  kind,  — 
alternately  ham  and  eggs,  beef-steak  and  chops  with  boiled 
potatoes,  rice  pudding,  or  gooseberry  tart. 

Morning  after  morning  my  husband  wondered  if  he  would 
feel  equal  to  resuming  the  journey;  but  the  necessary  self- 
reliance  was  found  wanting  still.  We  walked  out  slowly  and 
aimlessly,  and  we  chose  for  our  long  walks  the  most  solitary 
lanes.  Gilbert  felt  that  the  air,  impregnated  by  sea-salt,  was 
gradually  invigorating  him,  and  after  three  weeks  of  this 
melancholy  existence  made  up  his  mind  to  order  a carriage  to 
take  us  as  far  as  Canterbury.  The  long  drive  and  change 
did  him  good,  and  he  was  well  enough  to  take  me  to  the 
Cathedral,  and  show  me  the  town,  where  we  lingered  two 
days,  and  then  took  another  carriage  for  Croydon.  At  that 
stage  my  husband  told  me  that  we  were  not  far  from  Becken- 
ham, and  proposed  that  we  should  call  upon  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Craik  on  the  following  day.  I shall  never  forget  the  kind- 
ness of  the  reception  nor  the  sympathy  of  our  hostess.  I 
was  surprised  to  see  my  husband  enjoying  conversation  and 
society  so  much,  because  when  he  was  unwell  he  shrank  from 
meeting  with  any  one,  and  required  complete  solitude;  he 
only  wished  to  feel  that  I was  near  him,  without  fretting 
and  in  silence.  But  the  charming  simplicity  of  the  welcome 
in  the  garden,  the  peacefulness,  not  only  of  the  dwelling, 
but  still  more  the  calm  and  sweet  aspect  of  the  celebrated 
authoress,  together  with  her  husband’s  friendly  manner,  acted 
soothingly  upon  the  nerves  of  their  visitor.  He  told  without 
reticence  what  had  happened,  and  soon  changed  the  subject  to 
fall  into  an  animated  and  interesting  conversation. 

After  lunch  Mrs.  Craik  made  me  walk  in  the  garden  with 
her,  and  inquired  more  closely  into  the  particulars  of  this 
strange  illness;  she  encouraged  and  comforted  me  greatly. 
She  was  tall,  and  though  white-haired,  very  beautiful  still, 
I thought.  As  we  walked  she  bent  her  head  (covered  with 
the  Highland  blue  bonnet)  over  mine,  and  as  she  clasped  my 
shoulders  within  her  arm,  I could  see  her  hand  laid  upon 
my  breast,  as  if  to  soothe  it;  it  was  the  loveliest  hand  I ever 
saw;  the  shape  so  perfect,  the  skin  so  white  and  soft.  We 


MEMOIR. 


333 


spoke  French  together;  she  was  interested  about  France,  and 
liked  talking  of  its  people  and  customs.  Before  we  left  she 
asked  me  to  write  to  her,  and  offered  to  render  me  any  service 
I might  require. 

The  journey  to  Todmorden  was  not  to  he  thought  of  this 
time,  and  Gilbert  had  begged  his  uncle  and  aunt  to  meet  us 
at  Kew,  if  they  could  manage  it.  They  answered  in  the 
affirmative,  and  he  found  lodgings  for  them,  not  far  from 
ours,  nearly  opposite  to  the  church. 

Knowing  that  his  book  must  now  be  ready,  he  longed  to 
see  a copy  of  it,  and  feeling  well  enough  one  morning,  he 
started  with  me  for  London ; but  as  soon  as  we  were  in  the 
heart  of  the  town,  its  bustle,  crowd,  and  noise  drove  my  hus- 
band to  the  comparative  peace  of  the  nearest  park.  There, 
as  usual  in  such  cases,  we  had  to  walk  till  his  nerves  were 
calmed,  and  then  to  sit  down  for  a long  time.  He  did  not 
think  he  would  be  equal  to  the  busy  streets  that  day,  and 
asked  me  to  take  a cab  and  see  if  I could  bring  him  back  a 
copy  of  his  book.  Reluctantly  I left  him,  though  he  assured 
me  the  attack  was  over;  only  he  was  afraid  of  bringing  it  on 
again  if  he  went  into  the  street.  So  I was  driven  to  Mr. 
Macmillan’s  house  of  business,  and  immediately  received  by 
him.  He  was  evidently  truly  sorry  to  hear  that  my  husband 
was  unwell,  and  “Etching  and  Etchers”  being  upon  his 
table,  he  took  up  a copy,  and  with  many  warm  praises 
insisted  upon  placing  it  himself  in  my  cab.  The  book  was 
everything  that  its  author  had  desired,  and  taken  so  much 
pains  to  ensure;  he  was  gratified  by  the  result,  and  gratefully 
acknowledged  the  liberality  of  the  publishers.  One  of  the 
first  visits  paid  by  Mr.  Hamerton  when  he  felt  well  again  was 
to  Mr.  Cook,  of  the  “ Saturday  Review,”  who  was  himself 
out  of  health  through  overwork.  He  feelingly  expressed  his 
regret  that  my  husband  could  not  continue  to  act  as  regular 
art  critic,  but  trusted  that  he  would  still  contribute  to  the 
“ Saturday  ” as  much  as  possible,  and  on  subjects  he  might 
himself  select. 

Kext  we  saw  Mr.  Seymour  Haden,  and  I begged  him  to  try 
and  discover  what  was  the  nature  of  my  husband’s  ailment. 


334 


MEMOIR. 


It  was  no  easy  matter,  as  the  patient  refused  to  submit  to 
examination  and  to  prescriptions  of  any  kind.  Mrs.  Haden, 
who  was  full  of  sympathy  and  kindness,  apprised  her  husband 
of  this  peculiarity  and  he  undertook  to  passer-outre.  So  the 
next  time  we  called  by  invitation,  he  looked  steadily  at  his 
guest  for  some  time,  and  said  to  him  deliberately:  “You  are 
very  ill ; it ’s  no  use  denying  it  to  me;  you  must  give  up  all 
work,  — not  in  a month,  or  a week,  or  to-morrow,  but  to-day, 
instantly.”  My  husband  flushed,  so  that  I trembled  in  fear 
of  another  seizure,  and  answered  angrily:  “ 1 cannot  give  up 
work ; I must  work  for  my  family ; I shall  try  to  work  less.  ” 
. . . “ I say  you  are  to  give  up  all  mental  labor  immediately ; 
I shall  see,  later,  what  amount  of  intellectual  work  you  are 
able  to  bear,  according  to  the  state  you  will  be  in.  You  may 
break  stones  on  the  road,  but  I forbid  you  to  hold  a pen  for 
literary  composition ; and  once  hack  home , you  must  renounce 
railway  travelling  as  long  as  it  produces  uncomfortable  sensa- 
tions.” All  this  was  said  imperatively,  and  although  it  drove 
my  husband  almost  to  desperation,  I thanked  Mr.  Haden  in 
my  heart  for  his  courageous  and  timely  interference,  and 
Gilbert  did  the  same  after  recovering  from  the  shock. 

This  time  he  did  not  feel  either  so  sad  or  so  despondent  as 
formerly,  when  he  had  suffered  alone;  he  knew  now  for  cer- 
tain that  the  causes  of  his  trouble  were  overwork  and  rail- 
way travelling,  and  he  took  the  resolution  of  avoiding  both 
dangers  as  much  as  possible.  Whenever  he  felt  nervous  we 
remained  quietly  at  Kew,  reading  or  sketching  or  walking  in 
solitary  places  with  his  uncle  and  aunt,  and  when  he  thought 
himself  well  enough  we  went  to  London  by  boat  or  omnibus, 
to  the  British  Museum,  the  National  Gallery,  or  South  Ken- 
sington Museum,  and  to  the  public  or  private  art  exhibitions. 
We  also  paid  calls,  and  on  one  of  these  occasions  I was  intro- 
duced to  George  Eliot  and  to  Mr.  Lewes;  the  latter  sat  by  us 
on  a sofa  outside  of  the  inner  circle  (the  room  was  full) , and 
talked  with  wonderful  vivacity  and  great  discrimination  of 
the  state  of  Erench  literature.  He  judged  of  it  like  a French- 
man; his  conversation  was  extremely  interesting  and  sugges- 
tive, and  he  appeared  to  derive  great  pleasure  from  a rapid 


MEMOIR. 


335 


exchange  of  thoughts.  Undeniably  he  was  very  plain,  when 
you  had  time  to  think  of  it,  but  it  was  with  him  as  with  the 
celebrated  advocate,  M.  Cremieux, — so  much  caricatured, — 
neither  of  them  seemed  at  all  plain  to  me  as  soon  as  they 
spoke;  both  had  expressive  eyes  and  countenance,  and  the 
interest  awakened  by  the  varying  expression  of  the  features 
did  not  allow  one  to  think  of  their  want  of  symmetry  and 
shape. 

The  person  who  sat  next  to  George  Eliot  seemed  deter- 
mined to  monopolize  her  attention ; but  as  a new-comer  was 
announced  she  came  forward  to  meet  him,  and  kindly  taking 
me  by  the  hand,  made  me  sit  in  the  chair  she  had  herself 
occupied,  and  motioned  to  my  husband  to  come  also.  He 
remained  standing  inside  the  circle,  whilst  the  Monopolizer 
had,  at  once,  to  yield  his  seat  to  the  mistress  of  the  house,  as 
well  as  a share  of  her  conversation  to  others  than  himself. 

I immediately  recognized  the  description  given  of  her  by 
my  husband ; her  face  expressed  at  the  same  time  great  mental 
power  and  a sort  of  melancholy  human  sympathy ; her  voice 
was  full-toned,  though  low,  and  wonderfully  modulated.  We 
were  frequently  interrupted  by  people  just  coming  in,  and 
with  each  and  all  she  exchanged  a few  phrases  appropriate  to 
the  position,  pursuit,  or  character  of  her  interlocutor,  imme- 
diately to  revert  to  the  subject  of  our  conversation  with  the 
utmost  apparent  ease  and  pleasure. 

Mr.  Lewes  offered  tea  himself,  because  the  worshippers 
surrounded  the  Idol  so  closely  that  they  kept  her  a prisoner 
within  a double  circle,  and  they  were  so  eager  for  a few  words 
from  her  lips  that  as  soon  as  she  moved  a step  or  two  they 
crowded  about  her  in  a way  to  make  me  think  that,  in  a small 
way  and  in  her  own  drawing-room,  she  was  mobbed  like  a 
queen  at  some  public  ceremony. 

The  next  time  we  called  upon  George  Eliot  she  had  heard 
of  our  meeting  with  Mr.  Tennyson,  and  said,  — 

“ So  you  have  seen  the  great  man  — and  did  he  talk  1 ” 

“ Talk  ? ” answered  my  husband ; “ he  talked  the  whole 
time,  and  was  in  high  spirits.” 

“ Then  you  were  most  fortunate.” 


336 


MEMOIR. 


We  understood  what  was  implied,  for  Mr.  Tennyson  had 
the  reputation  of  not  being  always  gracious.  However,  we 
had  learned  from  himself  that  nothing  short  of  rudeness  could 
keep  his  intrusive  admirers  at  a distance,  so  as  to  allow  him 
some  privacy.  He  told  us  of  a man  who  so  dogged  his  steps 
that  he  was  afraid  of  going  out  of  his  own  garden  gates,  for 
even  in  front  of  those  locked  gates  the  man  would  stand  and 
pry  for  hours  together,  till  the  poet’s  son  was  sent  to  him 
with  a request  that  he  would  go  elsewhere. 

In  the  case  of  his  meeting  with  Mr.  Hamerton  it  was 
totally  different,  for  he  had  himself  expressed  a wish  for  it 
to  Mr.  Woolner.  Of  course  my  husband  was  greatly  flattered 
when  he  heard  of  it,  and  readily  accepted  an  invitation  to 
lunch  with  Mr.  Woolner’s  family,  and  to  meet  the  poet  whom 
he  so  much  admired.  I sat  by  Mr.  Tennyson,  and  endeavored 
to  suppress  any  outward  sign  of  the  interest  and  admiration 
so  distasteful  to  him.  Nevertheless,  I was  greatly  impressed 
by  the  dignity  of  his  simple  manners  and  by  the  inscrutable 
expression  of  the  eyes,  so  keen  and  yet  so  calm,  so  profound 
yet  so  serene.  His  was  a fine  and  noble  face,  even  in  merri- 
ment, and  he  was  very  merry  on  that  day,  for  the  string  of 
humorous  anecdotes  he  told  kept  us  all  laughing,  himself 
included.  I am  sorry  now  not  to  remember  them,  the  more 
so  as  they  generally  concerned  himself.  Several  were  con- 
nected with  his  title  of  “ Lord  of  the  Manor,”  but  the  only 
one  I can  remember  in  its  entirety  is  the  following,  because 
he  was  addressing  himself  to  me  — a Frenchwoman  — the 
scene  of  the  story  being  the  Hotel  du  Louvre,  in  Paris. 

Mr.  Tennyson  began  by  remarking  that  there  were  a good 
many  stories  current  about  him;  SGme  of  them  were  true,  but 
most  of  them  apocryphal. 

“ And  is  the  one  you  are  going  to  relate  true?  ” I asked. 

He  smiled,  and  answered:  — 

“ I think  it  is  capital ; you  will  have  to  guess.  I had  occa- 
sion to  go  to  Paris  with  a friend  who  was  supposed  to  speak 
French  creditably,  and  who  fancied  himself  a master  of  it. 
On  the  morning  following  our  arrival  in  the  French  capital, 
being  somewhat  knocked  up  by  the  journey,  we  had  a late 


MEMOIR. 


337 


breakfast  at  a small  side-table  of  the  dining-room,  of  which 
we  were  soon  the  only  occupants,  under  the  watchful  and,  as 
I thought,  suspicious  eyes  of  a waiter,  whose  attention  had 
probably  been  attracted  by  the  conspicuous  difference  between 
our  stature  and  garb  from  that  of  his  little  dandified  country- 
men. Having  caught  a slight  cold  on  the  passage , I felt  more 
inclined  to  stay  by  the  fire  with  a newspaper  than  to  go  out, 
and  did  so,  whilst  my  friend,  who  had  some  business  in  the 
town,  left  me  for  some  time.  As  I drew  my  chair  up  to  the 
hearth  I heard  the  waiter  answering  with  alacrity  to  some 
recommendation  of  my  friend’s,  ‘ Oh,  monsieur  peut  gtre 
tranquille,  j’y  veillerai.’  I thought  it  was  some  order  about 
our  dinner,  and  resumed  my  political  studies.  Was  it  my 
cold  which  made  me  dull  and  inattentive  ? It  is  quite  possi- 
ble, for  my  eyes  kept  wandering  from  my  paper,  and,  strange 
to  say,  always  met  those  of  the  French  waiter  riveted  upon 
me.  At  first  I felt  annoyed : what  could  be  so  strange  about 
my  person?  Then  I was  irritated,  for  though  that  queer 
little  man  was  making  some  pretence  at  dusting  or  replacing 
chairs,  still  his  eyes  never  left  me  for  a moment,  and  at  last, 
being  somewhat  drowsy,  I had  the  sensation  that  one  experi- 
ences in  a nightmare,  and  thought  I had  better  resort  to  my 
room  and  make  up  for  a shortened  night.  No  sooner,  how- 
ever, had  I got  up  from  my  chair  than  the  waiter  was  entreat- 
ing me  to  remain,  offering  to  heap  coals  on  the  fire,  to  bring 
me  another  paper  or  a pillow  if  I was  tired,  and  ‘ Did  I wish 
to  write  a letter  ? he  would  fetch  instantly  what  was  required ; 
or  should  I like  something  hot  for  my  cold  ? ’ His  voice  had 
the  strange  coaxing  tone  that  we  use  to  pacify  children,  and 
made  me  stare ; but  I answered  angrily  that  I only  wanted  a 
nap,  and  to  be  let  alone,  and  I made  for  the  door  in  spite  of 
his  objurgations.  Then  he  ran  in  front  of  me,  and  barring 
the  door  with  arms  outstretched,  besought  me  to  await  my 
friend.  This  unaccountable  behavior  had  rendered  me  furi- 
ous, and  now  I was  determined  to  force  my  way  out,  despite 
the  mad  resistance  and  loud  gibberish  of  the  waiter,  and  I 
began  to  use  my  fists.  It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  tremendous 
row  that  my  astonished  friend  re-appeared  in  the  dining- 


338 


MEMOIR. 


room,  and  was  greeted  with  this  exclamation  from  my  adver- 
sary: ‘ Ah,  monsieur,  vous  voyez,  j’ai  tenu  ma  parole:  je  ne 
l’ai  pas  laisse  sortir  le  fou  ; mais  ga  n’a  pas  ete  sans  peine, 
il  etait  temps  que  vous  arriviez.’ 

“ It  turned  out  that  my  friend,  anxious  for  my  comfort,  and 
noticing  that  the  fire  was  getting  low,  had  said  in  his  easy 
French  before  leaving,  ‘ Gargon,  surtout  ne  laissez  pas  sortir 
le  fou,k(/<sw)  — meaning  ‘Don’t  let  the  fire  go  out,’  and 
the  intelligent  foreigner  had  immediately  guessed  from  my 
appearance  that  I was  le  fou.” 

Amidst  general  laughter  I said,  — 

“ It  is  cleverly  invented.” 

“I  see  you  do  not  believe  it,”  Mr.  Tennyson  answered; 
“ yet  it  has  passed  current  in  society  and  in  the  newspapers.” 
Sitting  close  to  Mr.  Tennyson,  as  I did,  I noticed  the  large 
size,  and  somehow  plebeian  shape,  of  his  hands.  They  did 
not  seem  to  belong  to  the  same  body  as  the  head,  indicating 
merely  physical  strength  and  fitness  for  physical  labor.  His 
dress  also  struck  me  as  peculiar:  he  was  wearing  a shirt  of 
coarse  linen,  starchless,  with  a large  and  loose  turned-down 
collar,  very  like  a farmer’s  of  former  days,  and  shirt  and 
hands  looked  suited  to  each  other.  After  remarking  this  I 
happened  to  look  up  into  Mr.  Tennyson’s  face,  which  then 
wore  its  habitual  expression  of  serious  and  grand  simplic- 
ity; and  I thought  that  the  rough  and  dull  linen,  with  the 
natural,  unstiffened  fall  about  the  neck,  formed  a most  artis- 
tic sculpturesque  setting  for  the  handsome  head  well  poised 
above  it. 

After  lunch  Mr.  Woolner  took  the  gentlemen  to  his  studio 
for  a smoke,  and  my  husband  told  me  afterwards  that  Mr. 
Tennyson  had  continued  as  talkative  there  as  he  had  been  at 
lunch,  and  was  only  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Sir  Bartle 
Frere,  who  had  a great  deal  to  say  on  his  own  account. 

It  was  very  gratifying  to  me  to  notice  that  whenever  my 
husband  met  with  celebrities  he  was  treated  by  them  on  a 
footing  of  equality,  and  although  still  a young  man,  his  opin- 
ions and  views  were  always  accepted  or  discussed  with  evident 
respect,  even  by  his  seniors.  His  presence  invariably  awoke 


MEMOIR. 


339 


interest  and  confidence,  and  in  most  cases  sympathy.  It  was 
felt  that  he  was  one  of  the  few  to  be  looked  up  to,  and  I have 
heard  people  much  older  than  himself  tell  me  that  they  prized 
highly  a private  hour  spent  with  him,  because  his  influence 
made  them  feel  more  desirous  of  striving  for  noble  aims  and 
elevated  thoughts  which  seemed  so  natural  and  easy  to  him. 
It  is  true,  indeed,  that  whatever  he  thought,  said,  or  did, 
bore  the  stamp  of  genuine  uprightness,  for  his  nature  was  so 
much  above  meanness  of  any  kind  that  he  had  great  difficulty 
in  admitting  it  in  others ; whenever  he  met  with  it  his  first 
attitude  was  one  of  charitable  hesitation,  but  when  he  recog- 
nized it  unmistakably  his  indignation  was  as  unbounded  and 
unrestrained  as  in  cases  of  cruelty. 

In  spite  of  the  impediment  to  social  intercourse  caused  by 
his  intermittent  nervous  state,  Mr.  Hamerton  enjoyed  rather 
a large  share  of  cultivated  and  intelligent  society  at  this  time. 
His  worst  moments  happened  in  the  morning  and  in  bright 
sunshine ; the  evening  was  in  general  entirely  free  from  dis- 
agreeable sensations,  and  a rainy  day  or  clouded  sky  most 
favorable.  This  peculiarity  enabled  him  to  accept  invitations 
to  dinners,  at  which  he  met  the  persons  whose  acquaintance 
he  cared  for. 

Mr.  Thomas  Hamerton  and  his  sister  had  left  us  at  Kew  to 
go  back  home,  and  we  wished  it  were  as  simple  for  us  to  do 
the  same,  but  we  could  only  think  of  the  journey  with  the 
saddest  forebodings;  yet  we  longed  to  be  through  it,  and 
safely  restored  to  our  peaceful  rustic  life  and  to  a sight  of  our 
children. 

It  was  a very  tedious,  trying,  and  harassing  journey;  we 
travelled  only  at  night,  by  the  slowest  trains,  and  went  but 
short  distances  at  a time.  Sometimes  my  husband  was  unable 
to  proceed  for  a few  days;  but,  with  admirable  courage  and 
resolution,  he  managed  to  reach  the  much-desired  goal. 

And  now  what  was  to  be  done?  Mr.  Haden  allowed 
literary  work  only  on  two  consecutive  days  in  the  week,  and 
when  Gilbert  was  unwell  on  those  days,  there  was  no  remu- 
nerative production,  and  his  anxieties  became  almost  intoler- 
able. He  resolved  to  try  every  day  of  the  week  if  he  were 


340 


MEMOIR. 


fit  for  work,  and  to  go  on  whenever  he  felt  suitably  disposed 
till  the  two  days’  work  had  been  done,  and  then  to  leave  off 
till  the  next  week.  This  succeeded  for  a while,  but  as  he 
naturally  became  anxious  to  produce  as  much  as  possible  dur- 
ing these  two  days,  he  felt  driven,  and  suffered  in  consequence. 
He  then  attempted  to  devote  only  two  hours  to  literary  com- 
position at  a sitting,  and  to  repeat  the  attempt  twice  a day 
when  he  did  not  feel  his  powers  overtaxed.  To  this  new 
rule  he  adhered  till  the  end  of  his  life  — at  least,  generally 
speaking,  for  in  some  circumstances  he  had  to  write  through- 
out the  day,  hut  he  was  careful  to  avoid  this  extremity  as 
mfich  as  possible. 

We  waited  impatiently  for  news  of  the  reception  of 
“ Etching  and  Etchers  ” by  the  public,  and  Mrs.  Craik  having 
been  so  kind  as  to  offer  any  service  she  could  render,  I wrote 
to  her  on  the  subject,  and  she  answered:  — 


“Beckenham.  July  19,  1868. 

“ My  dear  Mrs.  Hamerton,  — I can  quite  understand  how 
you  care  about  the  book  — perhaps  more  than  your  husband  even, 
and  I wish  I could  send  you  news  of  it.  But  there  have  been  no 
reviews  as  yet,  and  this  being  the  dull  time  of  year,  the  sale  is 
slow.  Whatever  reviews  come  out  you  shall  have  without  fail 
from  the  firm.  It  is  so  valuable  and  charming  a book  that  I do 
hope  it  may  gradually  make  its  way.  I do  believe  it  is  only  the 
dreadful  cities  which  make  your  husband  ill  — and  no  wonder  ; in 
peaceful  Autun  he  will  flourish,  I trust ; and  you  too  recover  your- 
self, for  I am  sure  you  were  very  far  from  well  when  you  were 
here.  It  was  so  kind  of  you  to  come  to  us  that  Sunday,  and  to 
believe  that  we  are  both  people  who  really  mean  what  we  say  — 
and  say  what  we  think  : which  all  the  world  does  not.  If  ever  I 
can  do  anything  for  you,  pray  write.  And  some  day  in  future 
ages  I shall  write  to  you  to  ask  advice  upon  our  little  tour  in  un- 
known French  towns  and  country,  when  we  shall  certainly  drop 
upon  Autun  en  route.  Not  this  year,  however. 

“ With  very  kind  remembrance  to  you  both,  believe  me,  dear 
Mrs.  Hamerton, 

“ Yours  sincerely, 

“ D.  M.  Craik.” 


MEMOIR. 


341 


My  sister,  Caroline  Pelletier,  had  now  come  to  Pre- 
Charmoy  with  her  baby- daughter,  to  escape  from  the  drought 
prevailing  at  Algiers,  and  her  presence  was  a great  pleasure  to 
my  recluse.  She  often  read  to  him  to  keep  up  her  English, 
and  accompanied  him  in  his  drives  when  I was  prevented, 
aware  that  he  did  not  much  like  to  venture  away  alone  since 
he  had  been  ill.  At  his  request  she  had  brought  an  Algerian 
necklace  and  bracelets  made  of  hardened  paste  of  roses,  which 
were  intended  for  Aunt  Susan,  who  had  greatly  liked  the 
odor  of  mine,  and  who  acknowledged  the  little  present  in  a 
very  cordial  letter. 

My  younger  brother  Frederic  was  at  that  moment  very  ill 
with  typhoid  fever,  and  I had  asked  my  husband  to  let  me  go 
to  help  my  mother  in  nursing  him;  however,  with  greater 
wisdom  and  firmness  he  refused  his  leave,  and  made  me 
understand  my  duty  to  our  children.  “ If  you  brought  back 
to  them  the  germs  of  disease,  and  if  they  died  of  it,  you  never 
would  forgive  yourself,”  he  said.  But  after  the  fatal  ending 
he  allowed  me  to  attend  the  funeral,  on  condition  that  I 
should  not  enter  the  house,  hut  come  hack  directly  after  the 
painful  duty  was  accomplished.  At  the  same  time,  he  kindly 
invited  my  mother  to  come  to  us,  after  taking  all  necessary 
precautions  against  the  danger  of  bringing  infection  to  her 
grandchildren. 

The  society  of  M.  Pelletier,  who  used  to  follow  his  wife 
to  Pre-Charmoy  as  soon  as  he  was  free,  proved  quite  a boon 
to  Gilbert  in  his  solitude,  and  a solid  friendship  was  soon 
formed  between  the  two  brothers-in-law.  M.  Pelletier’s 
mind  was  inquisitive  and  receptive;  he  had  read  much,  and 
in  the  family  circle  we  called  him  our  “ Encyclopedia.”  He 
made  it  his  duty  and  pleasure  to  clear  up  any  obscure  point 
which  might  embarrass  any  of  us,  and  often  undertook  long 
researches  to  spare  my  husband’s  time.  They  regularly  sat 
up  together  long  after  the  other  inmates  of  the  house  had  gone 
to  their  rest,  talking  and  smoking,  or  walking  out  in  the 
refreshing  breeze  of  the  summer  night. 

My  brother  Charles  also  joined  us  at  times,  and,  being  a 
capital  swimmer,  taught  his  nephews  all  sorts  of  wonderful 


342 


MEMOIR. 


aquatic  feats.  We  all  went  daily  to  the  pond  at  Varolles,  and 
though  the  men  and  boys  were  all  proficient  in  swimming, 
Charles  astonished  them  by  taking  a header,  preceded  by  a 
double  somersault,  from  the  top  of  the  wall,  and  kindling 
thereby  a jealous  desire  to  rival  him,  so  that  in  a very  short 
time  my  husband,  who  hitherto  had  remained  but  an  indiffer- 
ent performer,  now  trod  the  water,  read  aloud,  or  smoked  in 
it,  with  the  greatest  ease.  It  was  very  good  exercise  for  him. 

For  some  time  past  Mr.  Hamerton’s  reputation  had  been 
growing  in  America,  but  he  did  not  derive  the  slightest  profit 
from  the  sale  of  his  books  there  till  Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers, 
of  Boston,  proposed  to  pay  him  a royalty  upon  the  works  that 
should  be  published  by  them  in  advance  of  pirated  editions. 
This  offer  was  accepted  with  pleasure  and  gratitude,  and  the 
pecuniary  result,  though  not  very  important,  proved  a timely 
help.  Moreover,  Roberts  Brothers  admired  Mr.  Hamerton’s 
talent,  and  in  very  flattering  terms  acknowledged  it,  besides 
doing  much  for  the  spread  of  his  reputation  in  America. 

In  the  autumn,  bad  news  of  Aunt  Susan’s  health  reached 
Pre-Charmoy.  The  reports  soon  became  alarming,  and  her 
nephew  was  made  very  miserable  by  the  impossibility  of 
going  to  her  bedside.  When  we  had  taken  leave  of  each 
other  at  Kew,  she  was  very  despondent  on  account  of  my  hus- 
band’s illness,  and  expressed  a fear  that  she  might  die  with- 
out our  being  near  her.  No  one  could  say  when  the  taboo  on 
railway  travelling  could  be  withdrawn  for  him,  but  I gave 
our  aunt  a solemn  promise  that  in  such  an  emergency  as  she 
mentioned,  I at  any  rate  would  go  to  her  when  she  called  me, 
and  Gilbert  had  ratified  the  engagement.  From  her  letters  it 
was  easy  to  see  that  she  wished  very  much  for  my  companion- 
ship and  nursing,  being  very  low  in  spirits  and  feeble  in 
body,  yet  she  was  reluctant  to  ask,  with  the  knowledge  that 
her  nephew  also  frequently  required  my  care.  At  last  we 
agreed  that  the  proposal  should  come  from  us,  my  husband, 
as  usual,  sacrificing  his  own  comfort  to  the  claims  of  affection. 
The  offer  was  gratefully  accepted. 

As  I had  never  travelled  much  alone,  and  am  entirely 
destitute  of  the  gift  of  topography,  it  was  not  without  mis- 


MEMOIR. 


343 


givings  that  my  husband  saw  me  off;  but  he  had  taken  the 
trouble  of  writing  down  for  my  guidance  the  minutest  direc- 
tions, and  though  he  told  his  uncle  that  he  should  not  be 
astonished  to  hear  that  I had  turned  up  in  New  York,  I 
reached  London  safely. 

He  was  very  lonely  at  Pre-Charmoy,  with  only  his  little 
girl  and  a maid,  the  boys  being  at  college,  but  he  frequently 
went  to  dine  there  with  the  principal,  M.  Schmitt,  from 
whom  he  needed  no  invitation,  and  who  always  made  him 
welcome.  He  was  also  cheered  by  my  letters,  which  told 
him  of  his  aunt’s  rapid  improvement  in  health  and  strength. 
We  went  out  together  upon  the  hills  as  often  as  the  weather 
allowed,  and  when  threatened  with  an  attack  of  nervous  dizzi- 
ness — which  she  dreaded  unspeakably  — she  derived  confi- 
dence from  my  apparent  composure,  and  tided  over  it  when  I 
firmly  grasped  her  round  the  waist,  and  made  her  take  a few 
steps  in  the  keener  and  purer  air  of  the  garden.  When  our 
aunt  was  restored  to  her  usual  state  of  health,  rather  more 
than  a month  after  my  arrival,  I took  leave  of  my  kind 
relatives  loaded  with  presents  for  every  one  of  the  children, 
and  even  for  their  parents.  Of  course  I wished  to  spend 
Christmas  at  home,  and  I arrived  just  in  time  to  realize  my 
wish.  Gilbert  had  come  to  meet  me  at  the  station,  and  as 
soon  as  we  had  exchanged  greetings  and  news  he  began  to  tell 
of  a plan  for  an  artistic  periodical  which  had  mainly  occupied 
his  thoughts  during  my  absence.  As  we  were  driving  home 
he  entered  into  all  the  details  of  the  scheme  as  he  conceived 
it,  and  said  he  believed  he  might  undertake  the  management 
of  such  a periodical,  even  where  he  was  situated,  if  Mr. 
Seeley  gave  his  valuable  help.  He  was  full  of  the  idea,  and 
his  thoughts  were  continually  reverting  to  it. 


344 


MEMOIR. 


CHAPTER  X 
1869-1870. 

“ Wenderholme.” — The  Mont  Beuvray. — Botanical  Studies  — La  Tnil- 
erie. — Commencement  of  the  “Portfolio.”  — The  Franco-German 
War. 

The  uncertainty  of  finding  sufficient  literary  work  after  the 
resignation  of  his  post  on  the  “ Saturday  Review  ” had  been 
a cause  of  great  anxiety  to-  Mr.  Hamerton,  though  he  had 
enough  on  hand  at  that  time,  but  he  wondered  very  much  if 
it  would  last.  He  wrote  for  the  “ Globe  ” regularly ; for  the 
“Saturday  Review,”  “Pall  Mall  Gazette,”  and  “Atlantic 
Monthly  ” occasionally,  though  he  had  a great  dislike  for 
anonymous  writing,  as  he  bestowed  as  much  care  and  labor 
upon  it  as  if  it  could  have  added  to  his  reputation.  He 
worked  with  greater  pleasure  and  some  anticipation  of  success 
at  his  novel  of  “Wenderholme,”  the  first  volume  of  which 
had  been  sent  to  Mr.  Blackwood,  who  agreed  to  give  £200 
for  the  copyright.  Here  are  some  passages  from  his  letter, 
which  of  course  was  very  welcome.  After  a few  criticisms : — 

“ The  narrative  is  natural  and  taking.  Your  description  of  the 
drunken  habits  of  Shayton  are  excellent , and  not  a bit  overdone. 
It  reminds  me  of  a joke  of  Aytoun’s  when  there  was  a report  of 
an  earthquake  at  a village  in  Scotland  notorious  for  its  convivial 
habits.  He  remarked,  ‘ Nonsense ; the  whole  inhabitants  are  in 
a chronic  state  of  D.  T.  that  would  have  shaken  down  the  walls  of 
Jericho.’ 

“ The  picture  of  poor  Isaac’s  struggles  and  his  final  break-down 
at  his  own  home  is  very  well  done,  and  so  is  that  cf  his  old  mother, 
with  her  narrow  fat  forehead. 

“ I particularly  like  Colonel  Stanburne.  He  is  like  a gentleman, 
and  I hope  he  has  a great  deal  to  do  in  the  remaining  part  of  the 
story.  Little  Jacob  is  very  nice,  and  promises  to  make  a good 
hero. 

“ The  style  is  throughout  pleasant  and  graceful.  I shall  look 
anxiously  for  vols.  2 and  3,  but  I feel  confident  that  you  will  not 
write  anything  unkind  or  inconsistent  with  good  taste.” 


MEMOIR. 


345 


Encouraged  by  the  favorable  opinion  of  Mr.  Blackwood, 
the  author  went  on  as  diligently  with  the  novel  as  his  health 
allowed.  From  time  to  time  I find  in  his  diary,  “ too  unwell 
to  work,”  or  “obliged  to  rest,”  or  “not  well  enough  to 
write.”  Still,  he  was  remarkably  free  from  bodily  pain,  as 
it  is  generally  felt  and  understood;  he  never  complained  of 
aches  or  sickness,  and  to  any  ordinary  observer  he  looked 
vigorous  and  unusually  healthy;  but  from  me,  accustomed  to 
scrutinize  the  most  transient  expression  of  his  face  and  coun- 
tenance, he  could  not  hide  the  slightest  symptoms  of  nervous- 
ness, were  it  merely  the  bending  forward  of  the  body,  the 
steady  gaze  or  unwonted  cold  brightness  of  the  eyes.  When- 
ever I detected  any  of  these  threatening  signs  at  home,  I 
begged  him  to  leave  work  and  to  go  out,  and  if  we  happened 
to  be  in  an  exhibition  or  any  crowded  place,  we  had  to  resort 
to  some  secluded  spot  in  a public  garden  — to  the  parks  if  we 
were  in  London;  and  I believe  it  must  be  on  account  of  the 
repeated  anguish  I suffered  there  that  I never  wished  to  visit 
them  for  my  pleasure:  those  horribly  painful  hours  have 
deprived  them  of  all  charm  for  me.  What  my  husband  had 
to  bear  was  a terrible  apprehension  of  something  fearful,  — he 
did  not  know  what,  — now  increasing,  as  if  a fatal  end  were 
inevitable ; now  decreasing,  only  to  return  — ah ! how  many 
times?  — till  sometimes  only  after  hours  of  strife,  and  some- 
times suddenly,  it  left  him  calm  but  always  weakened.  At 
the  very  time  that  he  was  most  frequently  subject  to  these 
attacks,  the  American  papers  were  giving  numerous  notices  of 
his  works,  and  brief  biographies  in  which  he  was  invariably 
presented  to  the  public  as  an  athlete  in  possession  of  the  most 
robust  health. 

The  doctors  agreed  in  saying  that  this  disorder  was  only 
nervous,  and  not  the  result  of  any  known  disease;  that  the 
only  remedy  lay  in  rest  for  the  brain,  and  active  exercise  for 
the  body  in  the  open  air.  But  it  was  indeed  difficult  to  give 
rest  to  a mind  incessantly  thirsting  for  knowledge,  and  find- 
ing an  inexhaustible  mine  of  interest  in  the  most  trivial 
events,  in  the  simplest  natures  and  the  monotonous  existence 
of  the  rustics,  as  well  as  in  the  philosophy  of  Auguste.  Comte 


346 


MEMOIR. 


and  John  Stuart  Mill,  or  in  the  aesthetics  of  Buskin  and 
Charles  Blanc.  It  was  a mind  which  turned  all  that  came 
in  its  way  into  the  gold  of  knowledge,  and  which  spent  it 
generously  afterwards,  not  only  in  his  writings,  but  in  familiar 
conversations;  his  friends  used  to  say  that  they  always  gained 
something  when  with  him,  on  account  of  the  natural  eleva- 
tion of  mind  which  made  him  treat  all  questions  intellectu- 
ally. He  had  no  taste  for  sport  or  amusements  or  games, 
with  the  exception  of  boating  and  chess;  but  chess-playing 
can  hardly  be  called  mental  rest,  and  boating  is  not  always 
practicable,  requiring  several  hours  each  time  it  is  indulged 
in,  particularly  when  one  is  not  close  to  a lake  or  river. 

Biding  Cocote  was  a pleasant  relaxation  to  her  master,  as 
she  was  a spirited  little  creature,  and  the  two  often  went 
together  to  the  Mont  Beuvray  (the  site  of  the  ancient  Bibracte 
of  the  Gauls),  to  find  the  learned  and  venerable  President 
of  the  Societe  Eduenne  busy  with  his  researches  among  the 
ruins,  but  nevertheless  always  ready  to  receive  them  hospi- 
tably. The  use  of  one  of  his  huts  was  given  to  his  young 
friend,  and  his  four-footed  companion  was  turned  loose  to 
browse  on  the  fine,  short  grass  which  grew  thickly  under  the 
shade  of  the  noble  oaks  and  chestnut  trees  of  the  mountain. 

On  these  occasions,  a valise  containing  sketching  material 
and  hooks  was  strapped  on  behind  the  rider,  on  the  horse’s 
hack;  at  other  times,  when  I accompanied  my  husband,  we 
went  in  a light  cart,  which  was  left  with  Cocote  at  a farm- 
house about  half-way  up  the  hill. 

My  husband  liked  me  to  read  to  him  whilst  he  sketched, 
and  I see  by  his  diary  of  1869  that  some  of  the  works  he 
listened  to  in  the  course  of  that  year  were:  “ Les  Couleuvres,” 
by  Louis  Yeuillot;  Victor  Jacquemond’s  “ Voyage  en  Italie;  ” 
“l’Art  en  Hollande,”  and  “La  Litterature  Anglaise,”  by 
Taine;  “ Le  Postscriptum ; ” George  Eliot’s  “ Silas  Marner;” 
Sidney  Colvin’s  “ Academy  Notes;  ” Tennyson’s  “ In  Memo- 
riam;  ” Legouve’s  “ l’Art  de  la  lecture;  ” “ Chateaubriand  et 
son  groupe  litteraire,”  “ Beranger  et  de  Senancourt,”  by  Sainte- 
Beuve,  whose  talent  as  a critic  he  greatly  admired. 

The  rambles  and  drives  which  he  took  in  quest  of  pio 


MEMOIR. 


347 


turesque  subjects  inclined  him  to  botanical  studies,  and  he 
began  to  form  a herbarium ; the  search  for  plants  gave  a zest 
to  the  long  walks  recommended  by  the  doctors,  which  might 
have  become  tedious  had  they  been  aimless.  The  prettiest 
or  most  remarkable  of  these  plants  were  sketched  or  painted 
before  being  dried,  to  be  used  in  the  foregrounds  of  pictures. 
Gilbert’s  mind  was  also  inventive;  the  reader  may  have 
remarked  in  the  autobiography  that  he  had  made  various 
models  of  double-boats,  the  principle  of  which  he  wished  to 
see  more  generally  adopted  on  account  of  their  safety ; but  in 
1869  it  was  not  with  boats  that  this  faculty  of  invention  was 
busy, — it  was  with  a plan  for  a carriage  which  would  meet 
our  requirements.  The  little  donkey-cart  was  so  rickety  now 
that  it  had  become  unsafe,  and  the  carriage-builders  could  not 
show  anything  sufficiently  convenient  of  a size  and  weight 
to  suit  Cocote.  The  elegant  curves  above  the  fore-wheels 
reduced  the  stowage  room  to  a mere  nothing,  and  we  required 
plenty  of  space  to  carry,  safely  protected  from  rain  and  dust, 
many  things  — amongst  them  change  of  garments  when  we 
went  to  Autun  for  a wedding,  a funeral,  or  a soiree,  and 
plenty  of  wraps  for  the  drive  back  in  the  cold  or  mist  of 
midnight.  A good  deal  of  room  was  also  wanted  for  the 
provisions  regularly  fetched  from  the  town,  — grocery,  iron- 
mongery, etc.  My  husband  succeeded  in  contriving  a car- 
riage perfectly  answering  our  wants:  it  was  four-wheeled, 
and  provided  with  a double  seat  covering  a roomy  well ; there 
was  also  a considerable  space  behind  to  receive  bundles  and 
parcels,  or  at  will  a small  removable  seat.  Six  persons  could 
thus  ride  comfortably  in  the  carriage,  and  as  we  were  expect- 
ing a visit  from  Mr.  T.  Hamerton  and  his  sister,  we  wished 
very  much  to  have  it  ready  for  their  use. 

With  the  tender  thoughtfulness  which  characterized  my 
husband,  he  had  contrived  a low  step  and  a door  at  the  back 
part  of  the  carriage  to  allow  an  aged  person,  like  his  aunt  or 
my  mother,  to  get  inside  with  ease  and  safety,  and  to  get  out 
quite  as  easily  in  case  of  danger. 

They  arrived  in  the  middle  of  July,  and  spent  a month 
with  us.  They  were  both  in  very  good  health,  and  Aunt 


348 


MEMOIR. 


Susan,  in  spite  of  her  seventy  years,  rivalled  her  little  grand- 
niece with  the  skipping-rope.  She  wrote  afterwards  from 
West  Lodge  on  August  20:  — 

“My  dear  Nephew  and  Niece, — We  arrived  at  home  all 
safe  and  well  at  five  o’clock  on  Monday  to  tea,  and  to-day  it  is  a 
week  since  we  left  your  most  kind  and  hospitable  entertainment, 
and  I can  assure  you  a most  true,  heartfelt  pleasure  and  gratifica- 
tion it  has  been  to  me  to  spend  a month  with  you,  for  which  you 
must  accept  our  best  thanks  for  your  kindly  studied  attentions 
and  exertions  to  make  our  visit  pleasant.  I am  sure  I am 
much  better  for  my  journey ; I feel  strong  and  more  vigorous ; 
the  drives  in  the  little  carriage  were  no  doubt  the  very  thing  that 
would  conduce  to  my  getting  strong,  as  I had  then  fresh  air  and 
exercise  without  fatigue.  [There  follows  a description  of  the 
journey,  according  to  a careful  itinerary  prepared  by  her  nephew.] 
How  is  little  Lala,  lal,  a,  lala  ? [her  little  niece,  who  was  always 
singing].  We  often  talk  of  her  interesting  ways  and  doings,  and 
I often  wish  I could  give  other  English  lessons  to  my  nephews.  I 
think  we  should  have  made  some  progress,  as  both  sides  seemed  in- 
terested in  their  business.” 

Shortly  after  the  departure  of  his  relatives,  Mr.  Hamerton 
was  informed  by  his  landlord  that  he  would  have  to  leave  the 
little  house  and  garden  and  stream  he  liked  so  well,  because 
it  was  now  the  intention  of  the  proprietor  to  come  to  it  with 
his  family  to  spend  the  vacations.  He  was  offered,  instead, 
another  house  on  the  same  estate,  called  “La  Tuilerie,” 
larger  and  more  convenient,  but  a thoroughly  banale  maison 
bourgeoises  devoid  of  charm  and  picturesqueness,  close  to  the 
main  road,  and  without  a garden;  moreover,  in  an  inconceiv- 
able state  of  dirtiness  and  dilapidation.  I felt  horror-struck 
at  the  notion  of  removing  to  such  a place;  however,  I was 
at  last  obliged  to  submit  to  fate.  My  husband,  though  very 
disinclined  to  a move,  thought  that  since  it  could  not  be 
avoided,  it  was  as  well  to  make  it  as  easy,  cheap,  and  rapid 
as  possible.  He  could  not  afford  to  lose  time,  and  his  health 
prohibited  long  travels  in  search  of  a new  abode,  since  he 
could  not  make  use  of  railways.  We  went  as  far  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Pre-Charmoy  as  Cocote  could  take  us  in  a 


MEMOIR. 


349 


day  in  different  directions,  but  found  nothing  suitable,  prob- 
ably because  we  did  not  wish  to  be  at  a distance  from  the 
college,  which  would  prevent  the  boys  from  coming  home  as 
they  had  been  accustomed  to  do. 

The  greater  space  and  conveniences  offered  at  La  Tuilerie 
were  a temptation  to  my  husband.  We  had,  besides  two 
entrances,  a large  dining-room,  drawing-room,  kitchen,  six 
bedrooms,  lots  of  closets,  cupboards,  dressing-rooms,  and  an 
immense  garret  all  over  the  first  floor,  well  lighted  by  two 
windows,  and  paved  with  bricks.  In  the  extensive  courtyard 
was  a set  of  out-buildings,  consisting  of  a gardener’s  cottage, 
cartshed,  and  stable  for  six  horses;  and  as  on  the  ground 
belonging  to  the  house  there  had  formerly  existed  a tile-kiln 
( tuilerie ) with  drying  sheds,  there  was  ample  space  for  a gar- 
den after  removing  the  rubbish  which  still  covered  it. 

The  fact  is  that  circumstances  allowed  of  no  choice,  and  we 
had  to  resign  ourselves  to  the  inevitable.  Gilbert  saw  at 
once  that  with  a certain  outlay  and  a great  deal  of  ingenuity 
he  could  make  La  Tuilerie  not  only  tolerable,  but  even 
convenient  and  pleasant  — though  I doubted  it  — and  he 
explained  how  the  outbuilding  might  be  used  as  laundry, 
laboratory,  and  carpenter’s  shop  — there  being  three  rooms  of 
different  sizes  in  it;  and  what  a gain  it  would  be  so  to  have 
all  the  dirty  work  done  outside  the  house.  Another  attrac- 
tion was  the  good  views  from  all  the  windows;  that  of  the 
Beuvray,  with  the  plain  leading  to  it;  the  amphitheatre  of 
Autun,  with  the  intervening  wood  of  noble  trees,  and  beyond 
it  the  temple  of  Janus;  the  range  of  the  Morvan  hills,  the 
fields  of  golden  wheat  and  waving  corn,  and  the  pastures 
which  looked  like  mysterious  lakes  in  the  moonlight  when 
the  white  mist  rose  from  the  marshes  and  spread  all  over 
their  surface  — endlessly  as  it  seemed.  He  promised  me  to 
plan  Out  a garden,  and  there  being  several  fine  trees  about  the 
kiln  and  on  the  border  of  the  road  — oaks,  elders,  elms,  and 
spindle  trees  — he  said  he  would  contrive  to  keep  them  all, 
so  as  to  have  shade  from  the  beginning,  and  to  give  the  new 
garden  an  appearance  of  respectable  antiquity. 

The  workmen  were  set  at  once  to  their  task  of  repairing, 


350 


MEMOIR. 


painting,  and  papering,  and  though  my  husband  deprecated 
both  the  time  spent  on  supervision  and  the  unavoidable 
expense  (for  the  landlord,  under  pretext  that  the  rent  was 
low,  refused  to  contribute  to  the  repairs,  which  he  called 
ameliorations ),  was  unmistakably  elated  by  the  prospect  of 
having  the  use  of  a more  spacious  dwelling;  for  he  very  easily 
suffered  from  a feeling  of  confinement,  and  tried  to  get  rid  of 
it  by  having  two  small  huts  which  could  be  moved  about  to 
different  parts  of  the  estate  according  to  his  convenience,  and 
to  which  he  resorted  when  so  inclined.  Even  when  they 
were  not  used,  it  was  for  him  a satisfaction  to  know  that  he 
had  in  readiness  a refuge  away  from  the  house  whenever  he 
chose  to  seek  it.  This  dislike  to  confinement  was  betrayed 
unconsciously  when  he  sat  down  to  his  meals  by  his  first 
movement,  which  pushed  aside  whatever  seemed  too  near  his 
plate  — glass,  wine-bottle,  salt-cellars,  etc.  I remember  that 
he  would  not  use  the  public  baths  in  France,  because  the 
cabins  are  small  and  generally  locked  on  the  outside.  It  was 
therefore  a great  pleasure  to  devise  stands  and  cupboards  and 
shelves  in  the  large  room  which  was  to  be  his  laboratory,  and 
which  he  adorned  with  a cheap  frieze  of  white  paper  with  gilt 
edges,  and  “ Lose  no  Time  ” in  black -and-red  letters,  repeated 
upon  each  of  the  four  walls,  so  as  not  to  escape  notice  which- 
ever way  you  turned. 

The  carpenter’s  shop  also  bad  its  due  share  of  attention, 
and  was  well  provided  with  labelled  boxes  of  all  dimensions 
for  nails,  screws,  etc.,  whilst  a roomy  closet,  opening  into 
the  studio,  was  fitted  up  with  a piece  of  furniture  specially 
designed  to  receive  the  different-sized  portfolios  containing 
engravings,  etchings,  and  studies  of  all  kinds,  together  with 
a lot  of  pigeon-holes  to  keep  small  things  separate  and  in 
order.  All  this  was  done  at  home,  under  his  direction,  and 
he  has  let  his  readers  into  the  secret  of  his  taste  when  he 
wrote  in  “ Wenderholme  ” : “For  the  present  we  must  leave 
him  (Captain  Eureton)  in  the  tranquil  happiness  of  devising 
desks  and  pigeon-holes  with  Mr.  Bettison,  an  intelligent 
joiner  at  Sootythorn,  than  which  few  occupations  can  be 
more  delightful .”  About  the  pigeon-holes,  a friend  of  my 


MEMOIR. 


351 


husband  once  made  a discovery  which  he  declared  astound- 
ing. “ I well  knew  that  Mr.  Hamerton  was  a model  of 
order,  ” he  said  to  me ; “ but  I only  knew  to  what  extent 
when,  having  to  seek  for  string,  I was  directed  to  these 
pigeon-holes.  I easily  found  the  one  labelled  * String,’  but 
what  it  contained  was  too  coarse  for  my  purpose.  ‘ Look 
above,’  said  Mr.  Hamerton.  I did,  and  sure  enough  I saw 
another  label  with  ‘ String  (thin).’  I thought  it  wonderful.” 

Yes,  Gilbert  loved  order,  and  strove  to  keep  it;  but  as  it 
generally  happened  that  he  had  to  do  many  things  in  a hurry 
(catching  the  post,  for  instance),  he  could  not  always  find 
time  to  replace  what  he  had  used.  When  this  had  gone  on  so 
as  to  produce  real  disorder,  he  gave  a day  to  restoring  each 
item  to  its  proper  place  — this  happened  generally  after  a long 
search  for  a mislaid  paper,  the  finding  of  which  evoked  the 
oft-repeated  confession , “ I love  Order  better  than  she  loves 
me,  as  Byron  said  of  Wisdom.” 

The  correspondence  relating  to  the  foundation  of  the  “ Port- 
folio ” was  now  very  heavy ; everything  had  to  be  decided 
between  Mr.  Seeley  and  Mr.  Hamerton;  suitable  contributors 
had  to  be  found,  subjects  discussed,  illustrations  chosen. 
The  only  English  art  magazine  of  that  day  confined  its  illus- 
trations to  line  engravings  and  woodcuts,  and  its  plates  were 
almost  always  engraved  from  pictures  or  statues.  It  was 
intended  that  the  “ Portfolio  ” should  make  use  of  all  new 
methods  of  illustration,  and  should  publish  drawings  and 
studies  as  well  as  finished  works.  But  it  was  the  dearest 
wish  of  the  editor  that  the  revived  art  of  Etching  should 
receive  due  appreciation  in  England,  and  that,  with  this 
object,  etched  plates  should  be  made  a feature  of  the  new 
magazine. 

The  contents  of  the  first  volume  will  best  show  the  plan, 
which  was  quite  unlike  that  of  any  existing  periodical.  A 
series  of  articles  on  “ English  Artists  of  the  Present  Day  ” 
was  contributed  by  Mr.  Sidney  Colvin,  Mr.  W.  M.  Rossetti, 
Mr.  Tom  Taylor,  Mr.  Beavington  Atkinson,  and  the  editor. 
These  were  illustrated  by  drawings  most  willingly  lent  by 
Mr.  G.  E.  Watts,  Mr.  Poynter,  Sir  E.  Burne-Jones,  Mr. 


352 


MEMOIR. 


Calderon,  Mr.  H.  S.  Marks,  Mr.  G.  D.  Leslie,  and  other 
painters;  and  by  paintings  by  Lord  Leighton,  Mr.  Armitage, 
and  Mr.  A.  P.  Newton.  The  reproductions  were  made  by 
the  autotype  (or  carbon)  process  of  photography,  which  was 
then  coming  into  high  estimation  as  a means  of  making  per- 
manent copies  of  works  by  the  great  masters.  Every  copy 
of  these  illustrations  was  printed  by  light,  a process  only 
possible  in  the  infancy  of  a magazine  which  could  count  at 
first  on  the  interest  of  but  a small  circle,  and  had  to  form 
its  own  public.  The  editor  contributed  a series  of  papers, 
entitled  “ The  Unknown  River,”  illustrated  by  small  etchings 
by  his  own  hand.  These  were  printed  on  India  paper,  and 
mounted  in  the  text,  another  process  only  possible  in  a maga- 
zine addressed  to  a few.  The  first  volume  also  contained  a 
very  fine  etching  by  M.  Legros,  and  others  by  Cucinotta  and 
Grenaud.  Articles  were  contributed  by  Mr.  F.  T.  Palgrave, 
Mr.  Watkiss  Lloyd,  Mr.  G.  A.  Simcox,  and  Mrs.  Mark 
Pattison  (Lady  Dilke).  A paper  on  “A  New  Palette  ” of 
nine  colors  was  the  forerunner  of  the  elaborate  “ Technical 
Notes  ” of  later  years.  The  imposing  size  of  the  new  maga- 
zine, its  bold  type,  fine,  thick  paper,  and  wide  margins  were 
much  admired,  and  prepared  the  way  for  the  many  editions 
de  luxe  issued  in  England  in  the  next  quarter  of  the  century. 

In  the  second  year  the  slow  autotype  process  had  to  be 
abandoned  for  the  quicker  Woodbury  type,  by  which  were  re- 
produced drawings  kindly  contributed  by  Sir  J.  E.  Millais, 
Sir  John  Gilbert,  Mr.  Holman  Hunt,  Mr.  Woolner,  Mr. 
G.  Mason,  Mr.  Hook,  and  others.  The  editor  commenced  a 
series  of  “Chapters  on  Animals,”  illustrated  with  etchings 
by  Veyrassat.  Other  etchings  by  M.  Martial,  Mr.  Chattock, 
Mr.  J.  P.  Heseltine,  and  Mr.  Lumsden  Propert  appeared. 
Mr.  Basil  Champneys,  Mr.  W.  B.  Scott,  and  Mr.  F.  G. 
Stephens  contributed  articles. 

In  the  third  year  a series  of  “ Examples  of  Modern  Etching  ” 
was  made  the  chief  feature.  It  included  plates  by  M.  L. 
Flameng,  Sir  F.  Seymour  Haden,  M.  Legros,  M.  Bracque- 
mond,  M.  Lalanne,  M.  Rajon,  M.  Veyrassat,  and  Mr.  S. 
Palmer.  The  editor  wrote  a note  upon  each,  and  had  now 


MEMOIR. 


353 


the  pleasure  of  seeing  one  of  his  objects  accomplished,  and  the 
public  appreciation  of  his  favorite  art  extending  every  day. 

In  subsequent  years  the  various  methods  of  photo-engraving 
were  employed  instead  of  the  carbon  processes  of  photography , 
and  the  “ Portfolio  ” was  one  of  the  first  English  periodicals 
to  give  reproductions  of  pen-drawings. 

Several  of  M.  Amand-Durand‘s  admirable  facsimiles  of 
etchings  and  engravings  by  the  old  masters  adorned  its  pages. 
In  1873  appeared  one  of  Mr.  R.  L.  Stevenson’s  first  contri- 
butions to  literature,  — if  not  his  first,  — a paper  on  “ Roads,” 
signed  “ L.  S.  Stoneven.  ” This  was  followed  by  other 
articles  in  the  years  1874,  1875,  and  1878,  bearing  his  own 
name. 

The  fear  of  running  short  of  work  was  not  realized;  on  the 
contrary,  my  husband  had  always  too  much  on  his  hands; 
for  he  dreaded  hurry,  and  would  have  liked  to  bestow  upon 
each  of  his  works  as  much  time  as  he  thought  necessary,  not 
only  for  its  completion , but  also  for  its  preparation,  and  that 
was  often  considerable,  because  he  could  not  slight  a thing. 
When  he  was  writing  for  the  “ Globe  ” he  polished  his  arti- 
cles as  much  as  a book  destined  to  last ; he  always  respected 
his  work,  and  the  care  given  to  it  bore  no  relation  to  the,  price 
it  was  to  fetch.  He  often  expressed  a wish  that  he  might 
labor  like  the  monks  in  the  Middle  Ages,  without  being 
disturbed  by  mercenary  considerations;  that  simple  shelter, 
food,  and  raiment  should  be  provided  for  himself  and  for 
those  dependent  upon  him  — he  did  not  foresee  any  other 
wants  — so  that  he  might  devote  the  whole  of  his  mental 
energy  to  subjects  worthy  of  it.  But  I used  to  answer  that 
if  he  had  such  liberty  he  never  would  publish  anything;  for 
whenever  he  sent  MS.  to  the  printer  it  was  inevitably  with 
regret  at  not  being  able  to  keep  it  longer  for  improvement. 
Still,  the  second  volume  of  “ Wenderholme  ” had  been  sent  to 
Mr.  Blackwood,  who  wrote  on  Sept.  24,  1869:  — 

“ There  is  no  doubt  that  I liked  vol.  2 very  much.  The  story  is 
told  in  a simple,  matter-of-fact  way,  which  is  very  effective,  by  giv- 
ing an  air  of  truth  to  the  narrative. 

23 


354 


MEMOIR. 


“ The  fire  and  the  whole  scene  at  the  Hall  is  powerfully  de- 
scribed. The  love  at  first  sight  is  well  put,  and  the  militia  quar- 
ters and  the  landlord  are  true  to  the  life.” 

My  husband  read  to  me  the  MS.  of  the  novel  as  fast  as  he 
wrote  it,  and  I was  afraid  that  some  of  the  original  characters 
might  be  recognized  by  their  friends,  being  so  graphically 
described;  however,  he  believed  it  unlikely,  people  seeing 
and  judging  so  differently  from  each  other. 

In  the  summer,  as  usual,  we  had  several  visitors  who 
afforded  varying  degrees  of  pleasure;  a strange  lady-artist 
amongst  others,  whose  blandishments  did  not  succeed  in  mak- 
ing my  husband  acquiesce  in  her  desire  of  boarding  with  us, 
free  of  charge,  in  return  for  the  English  lessons  she  would 
give  to  our  children.  She  resented  the  non-acceptance  of  her 
proposition,  and  having  begged  to  look  at  the  studies  on  the 
easel,  feigned  to  hesitate  about  their  right  side  upwards,  by 
turning  them  up  and  down  several  times,  and  retiring  a few 
steps  each  time  as  if  in  doubt. 

A more  desirable  visit  was  that  of  M.  Lalanne,  who  besides 
his  talent  had  much  amiability  and  very  refined  manners. 
Ever  after  he  remained,  if  not  quite  an  intimate  friend  of 
my  husband,  at  least  more  than  an  acquaintance,  and  when- 
ever they  had  a chance  of  meeting  they  made  the  most  of 
it.  Gilbert,  after  one  of  these  meetings,  — a dejeuner  at 
M.  Lalanne’s,  — told  me  the  following  anecdote.  Some  one 
asked  him  if  he  had  not  the  “ Legion  d’honneur  ” ? and  being 
answered  that  it  had  not  been  offered,  went  on  to  say  that 
it  was  not  “ offered,”  but  “ accordee  ” through  the  influence  of 
some  important  personage,  or  by  the  pressure  of  public  opin- 
ion; “and  I think  this  should  be  your  case,”  M.  Lalanne’s 
friend  went  on,  “ for  you  have  rendered,  and  are  still  render- 
ing, such  great  service  to  French  art  and  to  French  artists, 
that  it  ought  to  be  acknowledged.  As  you  do  not  seem 
inclined  to  trouble  yourself  about  it,  a deputation  might  be 
chosen  among  your  admirers  to  present  a petition  to  that  effect 
to  the  Ministre  des  Beaux-Arts.”  Mr.  Hamerton  having 
replied  that  he  should  prize  the  distinction  only  if  it  were 


MEMOIR. 


355 


spontaneously  conferred,  M.  Lalanne  remarked  that  decora- 
tions were  of  small  importance,  and  asked  without  the  slight- 
est pride,  “ Do  you  know  that  I am  one  of  the  most  decores 
of  civilians?  . . . No;  well,  then,  I will  show  you  my  deco- 
rations.” Then  ringing  the  hell,  he  said  to  the  maid  who 
answered  it,  “Bring  the  box  of  decorations,  please.”  It 
was  a good-sized  box,  and  when  opened  showed  on  a velvet 
tray  a number  of  crosses,  stars,  rosettes,  and  ribbons  of  dif- 
ferent sizes  and  hues,  all  vying  in  brilliancy  and  splendor. 
The  first  tray  removed,  just  such  another  was  displayed 
equally  well  filled,  and  M.  Lalanne  explained  that,  having 
given  lessons  to  the  sons  of  great  foreign  personages,  they  had 
generally  sent  him  as  a token  of  regard  and  gratitude  some 
kind  of  decoration  — maybe  in  lieu  of  payment. 

At  the  end  of  1869  “ Wenderholme  ” was  published,  and 
the  first  number  of  the  “ Portfolio  ” made  its  appearance  on 
January  1,  1870,  and  from  that  date  it  became  for  the  editor 
an  undertaking  of  incessant  interest,  to  the  maintenance  and 
improvement  of  which  he  was  ever  ready  to  devote  himself, 
and  for  which  he  would  have  made  important  sacrifices.  The 
dedication  of  “Wenderholme”  was  meant  for  Aunt  Susan, 
and  after  receiving  the  book,  she  wrote:  — 

“ Accept  my  most  sincere  and  highly  gratified  thanks  for  the 
copy  of  your  novel,  and  its  dedication.  We  have  heard  that  the 
“ Times  ” and  the  “ Yorkshire  Post  ” had  each  favorable  articles  on 
the  merits  of  your  novel.  We  have  detected  nearly  every  charac- 
ter, even  those  that  take  other  forms,  but  we  do  not  even  whisper 

any  information  in  this  neighborhood.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  W were 

immediately  struck  with  the  ‘ hoffens  ’ and  ‘ hirritation  ’ of  the 
doctor,  but  I pretend  to  think  it  not  individual,  but  that  it  was  the 
case  among  the  people  you  were  writing  about.” 

In  May  1870,  Mr.  Hamerton  removed  to  La  Tuilerie,  about 
five  hundred  yards  from  Pre-Charmoy.  He  continued  to  date 
his  letters  from  Pre-Charmoy  — the  new  house  being  on  the 
estate  so  called;  his  motive  was  to  avoid  possible  confusion 
in  the  delivery  of  his  letters.  He  was  greatly  tickled  to  hear 
the  peasants  call  his  new  abode  “ le  chateau  de  P Anglais,” 


356 


MEMOIR. 


and  to  see  them  staring  admiringly  from  the  road  at  the 
windows,  which  were  left  open  that  paint  and  plaster  might 
dry  before  we  came  to  live  in  it.  Though  perfectly  independ- 
ent of  luxury,  my  husband  liked  cleanliness  and  taste  in  the 
arrangement  of  the  simplest  materials,  and  he  contrived  by 
a good  choice  of  patterns  and  colors  in  the  papering  of  the 
rooms,  with  the  help  of  fresh  matting  on  the  floors,  and  the 
judicious  hanging  of  fine  engravings  and  etchings  in  his  pos- 
session, to  impart  quite  a new  and  pleasant  aspect  to  the 
banale  maison  bourgeoise.  Gradually  I became  reconciled  to 
it,  on  account  of  its  greater  convenience,  and  I even  came 
to  like  it  when  the  vines  and  wisteria  and  golden  nasturtiums 
hid  the  ugly  bare  walls,  and  the  fragrance  of  mignonette  and 
roses  and  petunias  was  wafted  into  the  rooms  looking  over  the 
garden,  and  that  of  wild  thyme  and  honeysuckle  into  those 
which  looked  over  the  fields;  when  the  tall  acacias  began 
to  shoot  upwards  straight  and  graceful  from  their  velvety 
green  carpet,  and  scattered  upon  it  their  perfumed  moth-like 
flowers;  while  we  listened  to  the  humming  of  the  happy  bees 
in  the  sweet-smelling  lime  trees  and  to  the  wondrous  song  of 
the  rival  nightingales  challenging  each  other  from  bower  to 
bower  in  the  calm,  warm  nights  of  summer-time.  And  such 
a great  change  did  not  take  very  long  to  realize:  the  ground 
had  been  well  drained  and  plentifully  manured,  and  it  was 
almost  virgin  soil,  unexhausted  by  previous  vegetation,  so 
that  the  elm-bower  was  soon  thickly  leaved  and  with  diffi- 
culty prevented  from  closing  up,  the  climbing  vines  became 
heavy  with  grapes,  whilst  the  spreading  branches  of  the 
acacias  speedily  formed  a vast  parasol,  and  afforded  a pleasant 
shelter  from  the  glare  of  the  August  sunshine.  Hardy  fruit 
trees  of  all  kinds  had  been  planted  all  along  the  garden 
hedge,  and  in  the  third  year  began  to  yield  cherries  — in 
moderation  — but  plums  of  different  species  we  had  in  great 
quantities,  also  quinces,  sometimes  apples,  apricots,  and  figs 
— the  two  last,  however,  were  frequently  destroyed  by  frost, 
the  spring  being  generally  very  cold  in  the  Morvan.  As  to 
pears,  we  had  to  wait  somewhat  longer  for  them,  the  pear 
trees  requiring  strict  pruning  to  preserve  the  quality  of  the 


MEMOIR. 


357 


fruit;  but  we  used  to  have  a small  cart-load  of  them  when  the 
year  had  been  favorable.  There  was  nothing  my  husband 
liked  better  than  to  pick  gooseberries,  currants,  raspberries, 
cherries,  or  plums,  and  eat  them  fresh  as  we  took  a walk  in 
the  garden;  he  was  very  fond  of  fruit,  and  unlike  most  men, 
he  would  rather  do  without  meat  than  without  vegetables  or 
dessert.  His  tastes  in  food,  as  in  everything  else,  were  very 
simple,  but  he  was  particular  about  quality.  I never  heard 
him  complain  of  insufficiency,  though,  situated  as  we  were, 
there  was  sometimes  only  just  enough;  and  even  that  lacking 
which  might  have  been  considered  as  most  necessary , namely , 
a dish  of  meat.  For  Gilbert,  however,  it  was  not  a priva- 
tion when  occurring  occasionally;  nay,  he  even  enjoyed  the 
change,  and  as  I generally  went  to  Autun  on  Fridays  and 
could  get  fish,  we  made  it  a jour  maigre , though  not  from 
religious  motives.  It  was  understood  that  if  eggs  were  served 
they  must  be  newly  laid;  if  potatoes,  mealy  and  a point ; if 
fish,  fresh  and  palatable;  he  would  not  have  tolerated  the 
economy  of  one  of  our  lady  neighbors,  who  abstained  from 
buying  fish  at  Autun  because  it  was  too  dear,  she  said;  but 
who  used  to  bring  a full  hamper  when  she  came  back  yearly 
from  Hyeres,  where  it  was  cheap,  enough  to  last  for  a week 
after  the  journey , and  who  considered  the  unsavory  hamper 
an  ample  compensation  for  the  absence  of  fish  from  her  menus 
during  the  remainder  of  the  year. 

The  removal  did  not  hinder  or  interrupt  Mr.  Hamerton 
seriously  in  his  work,  for  the  new  house  was  quite  ready  to 
receive  the  furniture;  and  the  place  of  every  piece  having 
been  decided  beforehand,  the  farmers  merely  handed  them  out 
of  their  carts  to  the  workmen,  who  carried  them  inside  the 
rooms,  according  to  previous  directions. 

The  difficulty  of  getting  proofs  of  the  different  states  of  his 
plates  whilst  etching  them,  incited  my  husband  to  invent  a 
press  for  his  own  laboratory,  that  he  might  judge  of  his  work 
in  progress  by  taking  proofs  for  himself  whenever  he  liked. 
Considering  the  present  state  of  our  affairs  I was  not  favorable 
to  the  idea,  but  I was  overruled,  as  in  all  cases  concerning 
expenses  deemed  necessary  to  artistic  or  literary  pursuits. 


358 


MEMOIR. 


He  had  few  material  wants,  and  therefore  thought  himself 
justified  in  providing  for  his  intellectual  needs  — for  instance, 
by  the  gradual  formation  of  a library.  He  often  deprecated 
the  necessity  of  apparent  extravagance  in  such  things ; “ but 
you  see,”  he  would  say,  “I  cannot  stand  stationary  in  the 
acquirement  of  knowledge  if  I am  to  go  on  teaching  others  — 
I must  keep  ahead  — without  mentioning  the  satisfaction  of 
my  own  tastes  and  cravings,  to  which  I have  a certain  right.” 
Indeed  it  was  truly  wonderful  that  he  should  have  been  able 
to  achieve  so  much  work,  and  work  of  such  quality,  in  the 
intellectual  solitude  and  retirement  of  these  seven  years  passed 
out  of  great  cities  where  libraries,  museums,  and  human 
intercourse  constantly  offer  help  and  stimulus  to  a writer. 
Luckily  for  him  he  bore  solitude  well.  He  has  said  in  “ The 
Intellectual  Life”:  “ Woe  unto  him  that  is  never  alone,  and 
cannot  bear  to  be  alone ! ” And  again : “ Only  in  solitude  do 
we  learn  our  inmost  nature  and  its  needs.”  Further  on: 
“ There  is,  there  is  a strength  that  comes  to  us  in  solitude 
from  that  shadowy  awful  Presence  that  frivolous  crowds 
repel.”  He  often  sought  communion  with  that  awful  Pres- 
ence in  the  thick  forests  of  the  Morvan  and  on  the  highest 
peak  of  the  Mont  Beuvray,  and  found  it. 

For  some  time  our  minds  had  been  disturbed  by  the  un- 
settled aspect  of  French  politics,  and  the  possibility  of  a war 
with  Prussia  had  been  a cause  of  great  personal  anxiety  to  my 
husband  on  account  of  his  nationality.  He  has  related  in 
“ Round  my  House  ” how  the  news  of  the  declaration  of  war 
reached  us  on  a Sunday,  as  we  were  bringing  the  children 
home  after  spending  the  day  peacefully  in  the  fields  and  on 
the  river-banks  of  a picturesque  little  village. 

It  is  probable  that  if  my  husband  had  been  able  to  bear  a 
long  railway  journey,  we  might  have  accepted  the  hospitality 
so  kindly  offered  in  the  following  letter : — 

“ West  Lodge.  August  12,  1870. 

“My  very  dear  Nephew  and  Niece,  — I am  most  grievously 
and  fearfully  concerned  to  hear  of  your  sad  condition  in  conse- 
quence of  the  terrible  and  needless  war  that  is  now  spreading 


MEMOIR. 


359 


misery,  desolation,  and  perhaps  famine  all  over  the  Empire, 
just  to  gratify  the  unbounded  ambition  of  one  man.  We  wish 
you  and  your  three  children  could  fly  over  to  us  and  be  in  safety. 
Really,  if  you  get  at  all  alarmed,  do  not  hesitate  to  come,  all  of 
you,  with  as  much  of  your  property  as  you  can  pack  and  bring ; 
we  can  and  shall  be  pleased  to  find  you  refuge  from  any  pend- 
ing evil  you  may  be  dreading.  Dear  P.  G.,  you  would  find 
your  articles  about  the  state  of  your  country  had  got  copied 
into  the  ‘ Manchester  Courier,’  but  we  wish  to  caution  you  about 
what  you  put  in  them.  Remember  whose  iron  heart  could  punish 
you,  and  what  would  become  of  your  wife  and  family  if  you  were 
cast  into  prison. 

“ The  little  grandson  and  his  nurse  are  coming  here  on  Tues- 
day next  for  a month ; they  will  only  occupy  one  bedroom,  so  there 
will  still  be  the  best  bedroom  and  a very  good  attic,  and  half  of 
my  bed  if  little  Mary  Susan  Marguerite  dares  trust  herself  with 
me.” 

Although  Mr.  Hamerton  had  always  taken  great  interest 
in  politics,  he  never  wished  to  play  an  active  part  in  them; 
from  time  to  time  he  wrote  a political  article  about  some 
cause  he  had  at  heart,  or  some  wrong  which  he  wished  to  see 
redressed,  or  again  on  some  obscure  point  which  his  experi- 
ence of  two  countries  might  help  to  clear  up,  but  he  never 
consented  to  supply  regular  political  correspondence  to  any 
newspaper.  Having  had  rather  a lengthened  connection  with 
the  “Globe,”  he  was  offered  the  post  of  war-correspondent, 
which  he  declined. 

He  has  passed  over  many  interesting  incidents  of  this  war- 
time in  “Round  my  House,”  although  he  has  given  a few. 
One  of  the  most  striking  was  certainly  his  guiding  a Gari- 
baldian  column  en  reconnaissance  across  the  bed  of  the  river 
Ternin,  on  a bitterly  cold  day,  mounted  on  his  spirited  little 
Cocote,  who  showed  quite  a martial  mettle,  and  may  well 
have  felt  proud  of  leading  a number  of  great  cavalry  horses. 
She  took  no  harm  from  her  cold  bath,  but  her  master,  whose 
legs  had  been  in  the  icy  water  (on  account  of  her  small 
height)  up  to  the  thighs,  was  not  so  fortunate:  he  caught  a 
serious  chill,  accompanied  with  fever  and  pains,  which  con- 
fined him  to  the  house  over  a week.  He  mentions  in  the 


360 


MEMOIR. 


book  our  anxiety  when  the  spy  mania  was  at  its  height,  and 
the  workmen  had  almost  decided  to  attack  us  in  a body,  but 
he  refrains  from  detailing  how,  day  after  day,  when  the 
“ hands  ” congregated  in  the  village  inns  after  dinner  in  the 
twilight,  we  used  to  take  our  children  by  the  hand  and  pass, 
with  hearts  in  anguish  for  their  safety,  but  with  as  confident 
a countenance  as  we  could  command,  before  their  infuriated 
groups;  never  knowing  whether  some  fatal  blow  would  not  be 
dealt  from  the  next  group  or  the  one  following.  The  men 
stood  on  the  door-steps,  or  in  the  very  middle  of  the  road, 
awaiting  us  with  lowering  brows  and  sullen  looks  of  suspicion, 
when  with  sinking  hearts  and  placid  faces  we  stopped  to  say 
a few  words  to  one  of  our  present  enemies  to  whom  we  had 
formerly  rendered  some  help  in  illness  or  destitution.  The 
truth  is,  they  generally  looked  somewhat  ashamed  on  such 
occasions,  and  always  answered  politely,  but  without  the  frank 
and  pleased  looks  of  other  days,  when  they  were  proud  of  our 
notice  and  interest ; they  would  rather  have  done  without  it 
now,  especially  in  the  company  of  their  fellow-conspirators 
against  our  safety.  I dare  say  the  innocent  unconcern  of  our 
children,  who  laughed  and  played  freely  in  their  happy  igno- 
rance of  danger,  proved  our  best  safeguard,  but  still  every 
night  after  reaching  home  we  could  not  help  thinking  — 
“How  will  it  be  to-morrow?” 

Just  at  the  beginning  of  the  hostilities,  my  husband  had 
deprecated  the  rashness  of  the  Trench  people,  which  was 
blinding  them  to  the  unprepared  state  of  their  army,  and  to 
its  numerical  inferiority  when  compared  with  the  German 
force.  But  when  he  saw  that,  although  the  King  of  Prussia 
had  said  that  the  war  was  not  directed  against  the  French 
people,  he  was  still  carrying  it  on  unmercifully  after  the  fall 
of  Napoleon  III.,  his  sympathies  with  the  invaded  nation 
grew  warmer  every  day,  and  he  did  all  that  was  in  his  power 
to  spare  from  invasion  that  part  of  the  country  where  we 
lived,  and  which  we  knew  so  well.  He  put  himself  in  com- 
munication with  General  Bordone, — Garibaldi’s  aide-de-camp 
(Garibaldi  himself  being  very  ill  at  that  time),  — and  ex- 
plained how  Autun  might  be  surprised  by  roads  which  had 


MEMOIR. 


361 


been  left  totally  unguarded.  He  made  a careful  map  of  the 
country  about  us  for  Garibaldi,  and  shortly  after,  outposts  were 
placed  according  to  his  directions,  so  as  to  prevent  the  enemy 
from  reaching  Autun  by  these  parts,  without  resistance. 

He  used  to  go  to  Autun  with  Cocote  almost  every  night  for 
news,  and  met  there  with  Garibaldian  officers  whom  he  often 
drove  to  inspect  the  outposts,  and  they  gave  him  the  password 
for  the  sentinels  on  his  way  home.  One  night,  however,  he 
had  remained  even  later  than  usual,  having  taken  an  officer  to 
a very  distant  outpost,  and  when  he  reached  the  road  leading 
to  La  Tuilerie,  the  password  had  been  changed,  and  he  was 
detained  in  spite  of  all  he  could  say  to  be  allowed  to  proceed 
on  his  way.  He  would  have  submitted  easily  to  the  discom- 
fort of  a few  hours  in  the  guard-room  had  it  not  been  that  he 
realized  how  anxious  I must  be,  and  when  he  heard  the  order 
of  march  given  to  a patrol,  he  asked  to  be  allowed  to  join  it 
as  it  was  going  his  way,  observing  that  the  soldiers  would 
have  the  power  of  shooting  him  if  he  attempted  to  run  away. 

The  permission  was  granted,  and  he  set  off  on  foot,  in  the 
midst  of  the  patrol,  followed  by  his  dog,  Cocote  having  been 
left  at  the  inn. 

It  was  freezing  hard,  and  the  snow  lay  deep  on  the  ground; 
the  march  was  a silent  one  — the  men  having  been  forbidden 
to  talk  — and  it  was  a miracle  that  Gilbert’s  dog  escaped  with 
its  life,  for  every  time  it  barked  or  growled  it  was  threatened 
with  instant  death.  His  master,  however,  artfully  repre- 
sented that  in  case  enemies  were  hidden  in  the  ditches  or 
behind  the  hedges  bordering  the  road,  “ Tom  ” would  soon 
dislodge  them  and  help  in  their  capture.  This  seemed  to 
pacify  the  men,  together  with  the  prospect  (no  less  artfully 
held  out)  of  a glass  of  rum  each  when  they  reached  La 
Tuilerie. 

It  was  a weary  march  for  Gilbert  and  an  anxious  watch 
for  me,  and  as  soon  as  I heard  the  joyful  bark  of  our  dog 
announcing  his  master’s  return,  I hastened  downstairs  and 
made  a great  blaze  for  the  half-frozen  patrol  and  its  pris- 
oner, and  served  to  them  all  some  hot  grog  which  was  duly 
appreciated. 


362 


MEMOIR. 


I have  no  doubt  it  seemed  hard  to  the  poor  soldiers  to  leave 
the  seats  by  the  leaping  flames  to  resume  their  slippery  march 
in  the  creaking  snow,  but  they  did  it  promptly  enough,  some- 
what cheered  by  the  renewed  warmth  they  were  carrying  away 
with  them. 

Mr.  Hamerton  has  described  in  “ Round  my  House  ” how 
he  watched  the  battle  which  took  place  at  Autun,  from  our 
garret  window.  With  the  naked  eye  we  could  only  see  the 
dark  lines  of  soldiers  without  being  able  to  follow  their 
strategical  movements;  but  to  my  husband,  with  the  help  of 
his  telescope,  every  incident  was  instantly  revealed,  and  he 
communicated  them  to  us  in  succession  as  they  occurred. 

It  is  needless  to  say  what  a relief  we  experienced  when  we 
heard  that  the  enemy  was  falling  back  — ever  so  slightly. 
Then  every  one  of  us,  women  and  children,  wanted  to  look 
through  the  telescope,  and  for  once  I did  see  in  it,  and  hailed 
with  heartfelt  thanksgivings,  the  scarcely  perceptible  retreat- 
ing movement  of  the  Germans. 

At  that  moment  the  light  of  day  was  fading  fast,  and  in 
the  twilight  I could  just  see  my  husband  turning  towards  our 
awestruck  children  and  saying  to  them : “ I am  certain  that 
you  will  never  forget  this  day,  and  what  a horrible  thing  a 
war  is.  ” 

And  they  answered,  “ Oh ! never ! ” 

Despite  these  painful  preoccupations,  Mr.  Hamerton  had 
prepared  the  “ Etcher’s  Handbook  ” and  its  illustrations,  and 
was  writing  a series  of  articles  on  the  “ Characters  of  Balzac  ” 
for  the  “Saturday  Review.”  To  save  time  I read  to  him 
“Le  Pere  Goriot,”  “ Eugenie  Grandet,”  “ Ursule  Mirouet,” 
“ Les  Parents  Pauvres,”  “La  Cousine  Bette,”  etc.  Mr. 
Harwood  approved  of  the  series,  but  although  my  husband 
admired  Balzac’s  talent  greatly,  he  disliked  the  choice  of  his 
subjects  in  general,  and  complained  to  me  of  the  desponding 
state  of  mind  they  produced  in  him ; he  called  it  “ withering  ” 
sometimes.  In  consequence  he  became  convinced  that  it  was 
not  a good  study  — mentally  — for  him,  and  rightly  aban- 
doned the  series,  for  it  was  of  importance  that  he  should  be 
in  the  healthiest  mental  condition  to  write  the  “ Intellectual 


MEMOIR. 


363 


Life,”  the  form  of  which  was  giving  him  a great  deal  of 
trouble.  He  had  already  begun  it  twice  over,  and  each  time 
had  read  to  me  the  preliminary  chapters,  without  giving  to 
my  expectant  interest  entire  satisfaction.  He  had  had  the 
plan  of  the  hook  in  contemplation  for  years,  and  the  gathered 
materials  were  rich  and  ready,  hut  the  definite  form  had  not 
yet  been  found.  He  was  in  no  way  discouraged  by  repeated 
failures,  and  told  me  he  “ was  sure  to  grasp  it  sometime,” 
only  he  grew  excited  in  the  struggle.  The  prudent  rule 
which  forbade  work  at  night  had  been  cast  aside,  and  it  was 
about  two  o’clock  in  the  morning  when  I was  awakened  to 
listen  to  the  first  chapters  of  the  “ Intellectual  Life,”  as  they 
now  remain.  I was  very  happy  to  he  able  to  praise  them 
unreservedly : hitherto  my  part  had  been  but  a sorry  one.  I 
could  only  say,  “ I don’t  think  this  is  the  best  possible 
form,”  without  suggesting  what  the  best  form  ought  to  be; 
but  now  I felt  sure  it  answered  exactly  to  my  expectations, 
and  my  husband  rejoiced  that  “he  had  hit  it  at  last.” 


364 


MEMOIR. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

1870-1872. 

Landscape-painting.  — Letters  of  Mr.  Peter  Graham,  R.  A. — Incidents 
of  the  war  time.  — “ The  Intellectual  Life.”  — “ The  Etcher’s  Hand- 
book” 

An  American  clergyman,  Mr.  Powers,  after  reading  Mr. 
Hamerton’s  works,  had  become  one  of  his  most  fervent 
admirers,  and  there  came  to  be  a regular  correspondence 
between  them.  Mr.  Powers  used  to  gather  all  the  informa- 
tion he  could  about  the  progress  of  his  friend’s  reputation 
in  the  United  States — newspaper  articles,  criticisms,  enco- 
miums, notes,  etc.,  and  to  send  them  to  Pre-Charmoy.  He 
was  a great  deal  more  sensitive  to  strictures  on  my  husband 
than  the  victim  himself;  and  I see  in  the  letter-book  of  1870 
this  entry:  “April  28.  Powers.  To  console  his  mind 
about  the  article  on  me.” 

Now  Mr.  Powers  longed  to  see  some  pictures  from  the  hand 
of  Mr.  Hamerton,  and  had  so  often  expressed  this  wish,  that 
the  artist,  out  of  gratitude  for  the  constant  interest  shown 
in  his  work,  rashly  promised  to  paint  two  landscapes  as  a 
present.  It  was  very  characteristic  that  he  did  not  promise 
one  only,  but  two,  and  at  a time  when  he  was  so  overwhelmed 
with  work  that  he  hardly  knew  how  to  get  through  the  most 
pressing;  and  still  more  characteristic  is  this  other  entry 
in  the  letter-book:  “February  7,  1871.  Powers.  Sending 
him  measures  of  his  pictures,  so  that  he  may  get  frames  for 
them.” 

It  is  true  that  one  of  the  pictures  was  begun,  but  before 
it  was  brought  to  completion  several  years  were  to  elapse, 
though  the  pictures  were  both  — at  intervals  — on  the  easel ; 
always  undergoing  some  change  either  of  effect  or  of  composi- 
tion, even  of  subject,  for  the  painter  could  never  be  satisfied 


MEMOIR. 


365 


with  them.  He  felt  that  he  lacked  the  power  of  expressing 
himself,  and  said  to  me:  “These  are  not  my  pictures,  I 
dream  them  differently;”  whilst  when  he  had  seen  Mr.  Peter 
Graham’s  “Spate  in  the  Highlands,”  he  exclaimed:  “This 
is  one  of  my  dreum*  pictures ; I should  like  to  have  painted 
it.”  Entirely  devoid  of  the  false  pride  which  prevents  learn- 
ing from  others,  he  had  written  to  Mr.  Peter  Graham  about 
what  he  considered  his  failures,  and  had  received  the  follow- 
ing reply:  — 

“ With  regard  to  what  you  say  of  yourself  in  your  last  letter,  I 
have  never  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  a picture  of  yours ; but 
I cannot  imagine  any  one  to  fail  in  landscape  who  has  the  high 
qualifications  for  it  which  you  obviously  have,  — a sensitively  im- 
pressionable nature,  a strong,  loving  admiration  for  whatever  in 
heaven  or  earth  is  beautiful  or  grand  in  form,  color,  or  effect. 
Then  you  have  the  faculty  of  observation,  without  which  a mind, 
however  sensitive  to  the  impressions  of  nature,  will  not  be  able 
to  do  anything,  will  be  passive,  not  active.  The  mechanical  diffi- 
culties of  our  art  must  be  to  some  extent  overcome  before  our 
thoughts  and  intentions  can  be  realized  and  our  impressions  con- 
veyed to  others.  After  all,  every  artist  feels  that  his  work  is  a 
failure,  the  success  of  rendering  what  he  wishes  is  so  exceedingly 
limited  in  his  mind.  I am  talking  of  what  you  know  as  well  as  I 
do ; but  my  only  reason  is  that  you  spoke  of  yourself  as  failing  in 
landscape,  ‘probably  from  want  of  natural  ability,’  which  I can- 
not believe.  My  method  of  getting  memoranda,  which  you  inquire 
about,  is  to  study  as  closely  as  I can ; to  watch  and  observe  and 
make  notes  and  drawings,  also  studies  in  color,  and  patient  grop- 
ing after  what  I wish  to  learn,  are  my  only  methods.  I feel 
unable  to  enter  into  details,  so  much  would  need  be  said  on  the 
subject.  I believe  I am  much  indebted  to  my  long  education  as 
a figure-painter  for  any  little  ability  I may  have  in  rendering  the 
material  of  nature.  I was  a figure-painter  many  years  before 
I touched  landscape.  Continued  study  from  the  antique  and 
painting  from  the  nude  in  a life-class  give,  or  ought  to  give,  an 
acquaintance  with  light  and  shadow  which  to  a landscape-painter 
is  invaluable  — nature  affects  our  feelings  so  much  in  landscape 
by  light  and  shadow.  In  Edinburgh  we  had  a long  gallery  with 
windows  from  the  roof  at  intervals,  and  the  statues  were  arranged 
there;  a splendid  collection.  I shall  never  forget  the  exquisite 


366 


MEMOIR. 


beauty  of  the  middle  tint,  or  overshadowing,  which  the  statues  had 
that  were  placed  between  the  windows ; those  which  were  imme- 
diately underneath  them  were  of  course  in  a blaze  of  light,  and 
we  had  all  gradations  of  light,  middle-tint,  and  shadow.  When 
I came  to  study  clouds  and  skies,  I recognized  the  enchantment 
of  effect  to  be  caused  by  the  same  old  laws  of  light  I had  tried  to 
get  acquainted  with  at  the  Academy.  Of  course  color  adds  im- 
mensely to  the  difficulty  of  sky  painting,  and  the  amount  of  grop- 
ing in  the  study  of  gray,  blue,  etc.,  is  very  disheartening.  I need 
not  longer  weary  you,  however,  on  this  subject,  but  shall  just 
again  say  that  I really  see  no  reason  why  you  should  not  succeed 
in  landscape-painting  if  such  be  your  wish,  and  therefore  cannot 
think  of  you  as  having  failed.” 

Then,  in  a subsequent  letter,  I find  this  passage : — 

“ Since  receiving  your  last  letter  I have  read,  and  with  great 
pleasure,  your  ‘ Painter’s  Camp  in  the  Highlands.’  I am  stronger 
than  ever  in  the  belief  that  it  is  merely  from  your  never  having 
devoted  the  necessary  amount  of  time  to  art  in  the  right  direction 
that  unqualified  success  has  not  been  attained  by  you  as  an  artist. 
I think  it  unfortunate  that  you  ‘learned  painting  with  a clever 
landscape-painter.’  You  probably  far  excelled  him  in  sympathy 
with  nature,  power  of  observation,  and  all  the  gifts  especially 
required  for  a landscape-painter.  What  you  really  needed,  study 
under  a figure-painter,  or  better  still  at  an  Academy,  would  have 
given  you.  Landscape  nature  is  too  complicated  to  be  a good 
school  to  acquire  the  mastery  over  the  mechanical  difficulties  in 
art.  I don’t  agree  with  you  that  you  ought  to  have  filled  your  note- 
books with  memoranda  from  nature  instead  of  painting  pictures 
at  Loch  Awe.  Your  experience  there  was  very  valuable.  A note- 
book memorandum  from  nature  is  of  little  or  no  use  for  a picture 
in  oil  without  previous  study  of  similar  subjects  or  effects  in  the 
same  vehicle.  You  ask  my  opinion  of  your  present  method  of 
study.  I think  it  excellent,  and  would  make  only  two  suggestions. 
You  might  safely  discontinue  the  study  of  botany  and  dissection 
of  plants ; there  is  not  the  slightest  fear  of  a want  of  truth  in  your 
pictures,  and  the  time  might  be  devoted  to  some  more  pressing 
work.  Then  I think  you  might  paint  the  human  figure  with 
much  profit,  even  to  landscape-painting  and  writing  on  art.” 

The  reader  may  have  remarked  that  Mr.  Hamerton  had  fre- 
quently painted  from  a model  at  Pre-Charmoy,  though  not 


MEMOIR. 


367 


from  the  nude,  for  he  was  of  opinion  that  this  kind  of  study 
was  no  great  help  to  him  at  this  stage,  though  it  might  have 
been  earlier. 

A more  serious  impediment  than  technical  difficulties  soon 
stopped  all  progress  with  Mr.  Powers’  pictures.  It  was  a 
recurrence  of  the  cerebral  excitement,  almost  in  a chronic 
form.  My  husband  had  made  a plan  for  issuing  — separately 
— proofs  of  the  etchings  appearing  in  the  “ Portfolio ; ” but 
he  was  so  ill  that  he  could  not  hold  a pen;  and  to  explain 
the  details  of  this  plan  to  Mr.  Seeley  I acted  as  amanuensis 
under  his  dictation.  His  aunt  was  very  much  grieved  to  hear 
of  this  illness,  and  wrote : — 

“ Suppose  you  tried  a ten  or  twenty  miles’  journey  by  train,  in 
some  direction  whence  you  could  return  by  water  or  conveyance 
if  necessary.  I assure  you  I can  do  valiant  things  with  impunity 
that  the  very  thinking  of  them  would  have  made  me  ill  about 
thirteen  months  ago.” 

He  did  not  need  courage  to  be  preached  to  him,  he  had  a 
sufficient  store  of  it;  indeed,  his  nervousness  had  nothing  to 
do  with  fear:  he  used  to  drive  or  ride  Cocote  after  she  had 
been  running  away,  upsetting  the  carriage  and  breaking  the 
harness,  till  she  was  subdued  again  into  docility.  Once  at 
Dieppe,  in  a storm,  he  had  volunteered  to  steer  a lifeboat 
which  was  making  for  a ship  in  distress,  but  his  services  had 
been  refused  when  it  was  known  that  he  had  a family.  He 
rode  fearlessly  one  of  the  high,  dangerous  bicycles  of  that 
time,  about  which  Aunt  Susan  humorously  said  in  one  of  her 
letters  that  “ they  often  prove  rather  restive,  and  are  given  to, 
or  seized  with,  an  inclination  to  butting  the  walls,  and  also 
of  lazily  lying  down  on  the  road  over  which  they  ought  to  be 
almost  imperceptibly  passing  along.”  And  during  the  war 
he  kindly  received,  fed,  and  helped  several  francs-tireurs  and 
stray  French  soldiers,  perfectly  aware  that  he  was  risking  his 
life  in  case  the  Prussians  came  near;  he  even  conveyed  one 
of  them  to  the  Garibaldian  outposts  in  his  carriage.  Of  his 
own  accord  he  attempted  time  after  time  to  get  the  better  of 
this  peculiar  nervousness,  but  it  had  lately  increased  to  such 


368 


MEMOIR. 


a point  that,  for  a time,  when  we  reached  Autun  in  the  car- 
riage and  came  in  sight  of  the  railway  bridge,  he  had  to  give 
me  the  reins,  jump  down,  and  go  back  to  wait  for  my  return 
outside  the  town;  for  I could  not  go  with  him,  having  to  take 
our  boys  to  the  college.  I never  knew  how  I might  find  him 
when  we  met  again.  Unlike  the  majority  of  patients,  who 
make  the  most  of  their  ailments  to  excite  sympathy,  he  con- 
siderately let  me  know  immediately  of  the  slightest  improve- 
ment, and  kept  repeating:  “It  will  soon  be  over  now;  don’t 
distress  yourself.  ” 

I believe  that  the  great  excitement  and  anxiety  of  the  war- 
time had  caused  the  recurrence  of  the  ailment,  and  no  wonder, 
for  we  knew  several  cases  of  mental  derangement  in  the  small 
circle  of  our  acquaintances,  even  amongst  peasants,  who  are 
far  from  imaginative  or  nervous.  In  Gilbert’s  case  there 
were  only  too  many  reasons  for  anxiety,  besides  the  uncer- 
tainty of  his  situation.  His  brother-in-law,  M.  Pelletier, 
then  Econome  of  the  Lycee  at  Vendome,  was  in  the  thick 
cf  the  strife,  and  his  post  was  not  unattended  with  danger  — 
though  the  Lycee  had  become  an  International  Ambulance. 
It  was  sometimes  hard  for  him  to  restrain  his  indignation 
before  the  insolence  and  partiality  of  the  victors:  once,  for 
instance,  he  appealed  to  the  general  in  command  to  obtain  for 
the  French  wounded  an  equal  portion  of  the  bread  given  to 
the  Prussians;  but  he  was  pushed  by  the  shoulder  to  an  open 
window,  from  which  the  French  army  could  be  seen,  and  the 
general  exclaimed  — pointing  to  the  soldiers  in  the  distance: 
“Vous  n’aurez  rien,  rien!  tant  que  nous  ne  les  aurons  pas 
battus!  . . . allez!  ...” 

Another  time  M.  Pelletier  had  to  go  to  Chateau  Renaud  to 
fetch  several  things  sorely  wanted  at  the  ambulance.  It  was 
forbidden  by  the  enemy,  under  penalty  of  death,  to  carry  any 
letters  out  of  the  city,  which  they  had  declared  in  a state  of 
siege ; but  M.  Pelletier  could  not  find  in  his  heart  to  refuse  a 
few  from  desolate  mothers  and  wives,  and  these  letters  were 
carefully  sewn  up  at  night,  by  his  wife,  in  the  lining  of  his 
overcoat.  Who  betrayed  him  1 . . . No  one  knows,  but  just 
as  he  was  about  to  descend  the  stairs,  some  one  rapidly 


MEMOIR. 


369 


brushed  past,  whispering  hurriedly,  “ Leave  that  coat  be- 
hind.” He  understood,  went  back  to  his  apartment,  threw 
the  coat  to  his  terrified  wife,  merely  saying  “ Burn,”  and  had 
only  time  to  seize  another  great-coat  hanging  in  the  passage 
and  rush  to  the  omnibus  waiting  with  the  escort.  He  was, 
however,  stopped  by  a Prussian  officer,  who  said:  “You 
sha’n’t  go  — you  are  carrying  letters,  and  you  know  that  you 
have  put  yourself  in  the  way  of  being  shot.”  The  coat  was 
taken  from  him  and  the  lining  cut  open.  On  finding  noth- 
ing, the  officer  said,  with  a dry  smile:  “You  have  been 
warned ; but  let  it  be  a lesson  to  you , — you  might  not  escape 
so  easily  another  time.” 

My  brother  Charles,  despite  his  being  the  only  son  of  a 
widow  and  soutien  de  famille , had  been  enlisted,  and  his 
letters  did  not  always  reach  their  destination,  though  his 
regiment  was  at  Chagny,  not  far  from  Autun,  and  for  a 
while  Mr.  Hamerton  had  lost  all  traces  of  his  mother-in- 
law.  Madame  Gindriez  had  gone  to  Yenddme  to  be  near 
her  younger  daughter,  Madame  Pelletier,  in  the  hope  of  keep- 
ing clear  of  the  bloody  conflict,  but  found  herself  in  the 
very  centre  of  it  after  the  occupation  of  Vendome  by  Prince 
Frederick  Charles,  and  was  thus  shut  off  from  all  news  of 
her  son.  After  vainly  attempting  to  get  a safe-conduct  dur- 
ing the  hostilities,  she  at  last  succeeded  after  the  armistice, 
and  left  the  town  to  go  to  Tours,  where  she  had  friends 
willing  to  receive  her,  and  where  she  expected  to  hear  from 
her  son.  The  omnibus  in  which  she  travelled  was  escorted 
by  Bismarck’s  White  Cuirassiers,  pistol  in  hand,  till  it 
reached  Chateau  Kenaud.  In  the  night,  Madame  Gindriez 
was  awakened  by  loud  rappings  at  her  bedroom  door,  and 
ordered  to  give  up  her  room  to  some  Prussian  sergeants  who 
had  come  back  from  an  expedition.  She  dressed  quickly  and 
went  to  the  kitchen  — the  only  place  in  the  hotel  free  from 
soldiers  — to  await  the  morning  as  she  best  could.  Her 
breakfast  was  served  upon  a small  table,  apart  from  the  long 
one  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  which  was  reserved  for  the 
German  officers.  They  were  very  much  elated,  it  seemed,  by 
the  armistice,  thinking  that  it  might  lead  ultimately  to  a 

24 


370 


MEMOIR. 


peace,  for  which  they  openly  expressed  their  desire,  ordering 
champagne,  clinking  their  glasses  together,  and  politely  offer- 
ing one  to  Madame  Gindriez  with  the  words:  “You  won’t 
refuse  to  drink  with  us  a la  paix,  Madame?  ” u X la  paix, 
soit,”  she  courageously  answered;  “ mais  sans  cession  de  terri- 
toire.”  They  did  not  insist. 

It  may  be  easily  surmised  that  such  tidings,  reaching  my 
husband  from  time  to  time,  kept  him  in  an  anxious  state  far 
from  beneficial  to  his  health.  After  the  armistice,  I find  a 
great  many  entries  in  the  letter-hook  of  letters  inquiring  about 
friends,  and  how  they  had  fared  during  this  terrible  war-time. 
Despite  this  chronic  state  of  anxiety,  Mr.  Hamerton  was  writ- 
ing “ The  Intellectual  Life,”  and  had  offered  it  for  publication 
in  America  to  Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers.  They  answered : — 

“We  liked  the  title  and  the  plan  of  your  new  work,  as  outlined 
by  you,  and  presuming  it  will  be  larger  than  ‘ Thoughts  about 
Art,’  we  will  give  you  fifty  pounds  outright  for  the  early  copy,  or 
we  shall  allow  you  a percentage  on  it,  after  the  first  thousand  are 
sold,  of  ten  per  cent,  on  the  retail  price,  provided  we  are  not  inter- 
fered with  by  competing  editions.” 

The  author  had  the  satisfaction  of  receiving  another  letter 
from  Roberts  Brothers,  dated  July  21,  1871,  in  which  this 
passage  occurs : “ ‘ Thoughts  about  Art  ’ is  quite  popular ; 
you  have  many  very  dear  friends  in  this  country,  and  the 
number  is  increasing.” 

In  September  of  the  same  year  Mr.  Haden  wrote,  in  refer- 
ence to  the  projected  “ Etcher’s  Handbook  ” : — 

“ Your  new  processes  interest  me  immensely,  and  I am  glad  you 
are  going  to  give  us  a handbook  on  the  whole  subject.  Let  it  be 
concise,  and  even  dogmatic,  for  you  have  to  speak  ex  cathedra  on 
the  matter,  and  people  prefer  to  be  told  what  to  do  to  being 
reasoned  into  it.” 

Ever  anxious  to  improve  himself,  my  husband  had  asked 
Mr.  Lewes  to  advise  him  about  his  reading  preparatory  to  the 
new  book  he  had  begun  to  write  on  the  Intellectual  Life. 
Here  is  the  answer : — 


MEMOIR . 


371 


“ The  Priory,  21  North  Bank,  Regent’s  Park. 

“ Nov.  2,  1871. 

“ My  Dear  Hamerton,  — We  so  often  speak  of  you  and  your 
wife,  and  were  so  very  anxious  about  you  during  the  war,  that 
we  have  asked  right  and  left  for  news  of  you,  and  were  delighted 
at  last  to  get  such  good  news  of  you  both. 

“ As  to  the  books  to  be  suggested  for  your  work,  partly  the  fact 
that  no  one  can  really  suggest  food  for  another,  partly  the  fact 
that  I don’t  clearly  understand  the  nature  of  your  work  — these 
perhaps  make  a good  excuse  if  the  following  list  is  worthless.  It 
is  all  I have  been  able  to  gather  together. 

“ Littre,  ‘ Vie  d’ Auguste  Comte.’ 

St.  Hilaire,  ‘Vie  et  travaux  de  Geoffroy  St.  Hilaire.’ 

Gassendi,  ‘ Yita  Tychonis  Brahei,  Copernici.’ 

Bertrand,  ‘Fondateurs  de  l’Astronomie  Moderne.’ 

Morley,  ‘ Life  of  Palissy  ’ (passionate  devotion  to  research). 
Morley,  ‘Life  of  Cardan.’ 

Berti,  ‘ Yita  di  Giordano  Bruno.’ 

Bartholmess,  * Yie  de  Jordano  Bruno.’ 

Muir’s  ‘ Life  of  Mahomet.’ 

Stanley’s  ‘Life  of  Arnold.’ 

Mazzuchelli,  ‘ Yita  di  Archimede.’ 

Biot’s  ‘ Life  of  Newton.’ 

Drinkwater’s  ‘Kepler  and  Galileo.’ 

“ All  these  are  first-rate,  especially  the  two  last,  published  by  the 
Society  for  the  Promotion  of  Useful  Knowledge,  together  with 
some  others,  under  the  title  of  ‘ Lives  of  Eminent  Persons.’ 

“ The  ‘ Biographie  Universelle  ’ will  give  you,  no  doubt,  refer- 
ences as  to  the  best  works  under  each  head. 

“We  did  not  go  abroad  this  year,  but  buried  ourselves  in  abso- 
lute solitude  in  Surrey  — near  Haslemere,  if  you  know  the  lovely 
region ; and  there  I worked  like  a man  going  in  for  the  Senior 
Wranglership,  and  Mrs.  Lewes,  who  was  ailing  most  of  the  time, 
went  on  with  her  new  work.  This  work,  by  the  way,  is  a pano- 
rama of  provincial  life,  to  be  published  in  eight  parts,  on  alterna- 
tive months,  making  four  very  thick  vols.  when  complete.  It  is  a 
new  experiment  in  publishing.  While  she  was  at  her  art,  I was  at 
the  higher  mathematics,  seduced  into  those  regions  by  some  con- 
siderations affecting  my  personal  work.  The  solitude  and  the  work 
together  were  perfectly  blissful.  Except  Tennyson,  who  came 
twice  to  read  his  poems  to  us,  we  saw  no  one. 

“ No  sooner  did  we  return  home  than  Mrs.  Lewes,  who  had  been 


372 


MEMOIR. 


incubating  an  attack,  hatched  it  — and  for  five  weeks  she  was  laid 
up,  getting  horribly  thin  and  weak.  But  now  she  is  herself  again 
(thinner  self)  and  at  work. 

She  begs  me  to  remember  her  most  kindly  to  you  and  to  Mrs. 
Hamerton. 

“ Ever  yours  truly, 

“ G.  H.  Lewes.” 

Almost  in  every  letter  that  my  husband  received  from  Mr. 
Lewes,  he  had  this  confirmation  of  what  George  Eliot  had 
told  him  about  the  heavy  penalty  in  health  attending  or  fol- 
lowing her  labors. 

Mr.  Lewes  had  not  mentioned  his  lives  of  Goethe  and 
Aristotle,  but  they  were  ordered  with  the  other  books  he  had 
recommended,  and  I began  to  read  them  aloud  to  my  husband 
whilst  he  was  etching  the  plates  for  an  illustrated  edition 
of  the  “Painter’s  Camp,”  that  he  had  always  hoped  to  see 
accepted  by  Mr.  Macmillan. 

M.  Pelletier  had  been  promoted  from  Vendome  to  Lons-le- 
Saunier,  and  after  spending  a month  of  the  vacation  at  our 
house  with  his  wife  and  three  children,  now  invited  his  host 
and  family  to  go  back  with  him  for  the  remainder  of  the  holi- 
days. However,  the  boys  only  went,  for  their  father  was 
incapacitated  for  railway  travelling,  and  the  little  girl  May 
could  not  be  persuaded  to  leave  her  parents,  even  to  go 
with  her  cousins  and  her  Aunt  Caroline,  whom  she  so  much 
loved. 

The  nervous  state  into  which  my  husband  had  been  thrown 
back  had  produced  a morbid  sensitiveness  to  noise  and  to  the 
sight  of  movement  which  isolated  him  more  and  more,  even 
from  his  nearest  friends,  and  during  these  last  vacations  he 
had  seldom  been  able  to  take  dejeuner  with  us.  In  conse- 
quence he  had  a little  hut  erected  near  the  river,  au  huisson 
Vincent , whither  he  retired  almost  daily,  and  to  which  I 
took  or  sent  him  his  lunch;  there  he  read,  wrote,  or  sketched, 
surrounded  only  by  silent  and  motionless  objects.  This  mor- 
bid sensitiveness  decreased  with  the  light  of  day,  and  when 
the  sun  had  set  we  generally  joined  him  to  admire  the  beauty 
of  the  after-glow  fading  slowly  into  twilight  in  the  summer 


MEMOIR. 


373 


evenings.  He  always  dined  with  us  all,  and  after  dinner  he 
either  listened  to  music,  of  which  he  was  very  fond,  or  even 
played  a little  himself  on  the  violin,  or  walked  out  in  com- 
pany. We  made  quite  a little  procession  on  the  road  now,  — 
six  children  romping  about,  my  sister  and  her  husband,  my 
mother  and  my  brother  Charles,  the  master  of  the  house  and 
myself;  and  since  it  had  transpired  that  my  husband  was  not 
so  well,  some  of  his  friends  at  Autun  or  in  the  neighborhood 
came  as  often  as  they  could  to  make  him  feel  less  out  of  the 
world.  He  has  said  himself : “ The  intellectual  life  is 
sometimes  a fearfully  solitary  one.  Unless  he  lives  in  a 
great  capital  the  man  devoted  to  that  life  is  more  than  other 
men  liable  to  suffer  from  isolation,  to  feel  utterly  alone 
beneath  the  deafness  of  space  and  the  silence  of  the  stars. 
Give  him  one  friend  who  can  understand  him,  who  will  not 
leave  him,  who  will  always  be  accessible  by  day  and  night, — 
one  friend,  one  kindly  listener,  just  one, — and  the  whole 
universe  is  changed.”  In  his  case  the  friendly  and  intelli- 
gent intercourse  kept  up  with  his  wife’s  relatives  alleviated 
in  a great  measure  the  sense  of  isolation. 

The  life  in  the  hut,  together  with  the  botanical  studies  and 
the  formation  of  the  herbarium,  suggested  the  plan  of  the 
“ Sylvan  Year,”  and  thereby  lent  additional  interest  to  these 
pursuits,  though  at  that  time  his  main  work  was  the  prose- 
cution of  “The  Intellectual  Life,”  now  that  he  had  finished 
the  correction  of  the  handbook  on  etching.1  This  last  work 
brought  him  many  pleasant  letters  from  brother  artists,  but 
I shall  only  quote  what  Mr.  Samuel  Palmer  said  about  it, 
because  it  was  his  praise,  and  that  of  Mr.  Seymour  Haden, 
which  gave  the  author  the  greatest  satisfaction,  coming  from 
authorities  on  the  subject. 

“ Redhill.  January , 1872. 

“ Pear  Mr.  Hamerton,  — Had  I thanked  you  earlier  for  your 
‘ handbook,’  which  came  long  ago,  I could  not  have  thanked  you 
so  much  : for  it  is  the  test  of  good  books,  as  of  good  pictures,  that 
they  improve  with  acquaintance.  I had  a little  * Milton  * bound 

1 Contributed  to  the  “ Portfolio,”  and  afterwards  published  separately. 


374 


MEMOIR. 


with  brass  corners,  that  I might  carry  it  always  in  my  waistcoat- 
pocket  — after  doing  this  for  twenty  years  it  was  all  the  fresher 
for  its  portage.  Your  invention  of  the  positive  process  is  equally 
useful  and  elegant;  useful  because  the  reverse  method  lessens  the 
pleasure  of  work,  elegant  because  the  materials  are  delicate  and 
the  process  cleanly  and  expeditious.’" 

In  this  letter  Mr.  Palmer  expressed  his  desire  to  publish  a 
translation  of  Virgil’s  “ Eclogues  ” in  verse,  and  asked  for  his 
correspondent’s  advice  about  it.  Another  source  of  satisfac- 
tion to  Gilbert  was  the  increasing  success  of  his  works  in 
America.  In  January.  1872,  he  had  a letter  from  Roberts 
Brothers,  in  which  they  said:  — 

“ We  have  mailed  you  a copy  of  ‘ The  Unknown  River."  It  has 
proved  a success,  and  has  been  generally  admired.  It  is  a charm- 
ing book,  and  we  should  like  to  bring  out  a popular  edition. 
‘ Thoughts  about  Art  ’ is  selling  better  than  we  expected  — it  has 
given  a start  to  the  ‘ Painter’s  Camp,"  which  we  are  now  printing 
a second  edition  of. 

“We  think  you  are  getting  to  be  well  known  and  appreciated  in 
this  country.” 

Enclosed  in  the  letter  was  a remittance  for  £49  8s. , which 
proves  that  an  author  has  need  of  a good  many  successes  to 
pay  his  way;  still,  these  remittances  from  America  made  a 
difference  in  Mr.  Ilamerton’s  circumstances,  and  were  exclu- 
sively devoted  to  the  education  of  his  boys.  Though  unambi- 
tious, he  was  not  indifferent  to  the  increase  in  his  reputation, 
for  he  had  written  in  “ The  Intellectual  Life,”  “ Fame  is 
dearer  to  the  human  heart  than  wealth  itself.”  He  certainly 
cared  infinitely  and  incomparably  more  for  his  reputation  — 
such  as  he  wished  it  to  be,  pure,  dignified,  and  honored  — 
than  for  wealth;  his  only  desire  about  money,  often  expressed, 
was  “ not  to  have  to  think  about  it.  ” 


MEMOIR. 


375 


CHAPTER  XII. 

1873-1875. 

Popularity  of  “The  Intellectual  Life.”  — Love  of  animals.  — English 
visitors.  — Technical  notes.  — Sir  F.  Seymour  Haden.  — Attempts  to 
resume  railway-travelling. 

The  dedication  of  " The  Intellectual  Life  ” was  a perfect 
surprise  to  me  when  I first  opened  my  presentation  copy : the 
secret  had  been  well  kept.  I felt  grateful  and  honored  to  he 
thus  publicly  associated  by  my  husband  in  his  work,  though 
my  share  had  been  but  humble  and  infinitesimal  — more  sym- 
pathetic than  active,  more  encouraging  than  laborious.  Our 
common  dream  had  been  to  be  as  little  separated  as  possible, 
and  he  had  attempted  soon  after  our  marriage  to  rouse  in  me 
some  literary  ambition,  and  to  direct  my  beginnings.  I 
first  reviewed  French  books  for  “ The  Reader,”  and  he  was 
kind  enough  to  correct  everything  I wrote;  then  he  induced 
me  to  try  my  hand  at  a short  novel,  reminding  me  humor- 
ously that  some  of  my  father’s  friends  used  to  call  me 
"Little  Bluestocking.”  He  took  a great  deal  of  trouble  to 
find  a publisher  for  my  second  novel,  and  was  quite  disap- 
pointed to  fail.  He  wrote  to  encourage  me  to  persevere : — 

“ The  reviews  of  your  first  novel  have  all  been  favorable  enough, 
but  the  publishers  told  me  they  had  never  published  a one-volume 
novel  that  had  succeeded,  and  that  they  had  now  made  up  their 
minds  never  to  publish  another,  no  matter  who  wrote  it.  I rather 
think  they  would  publish  your  new  novel,  but  I earnestly  recom- 
mend you  to  try  ...  I am  quite  sure  you  have  something  in  you, 
but  you  want  wider  culture,  better  reading,  and  more  of  it,  and 
the  difficuty  about  household  matters  is  for  the  present  in  your 
way,  though  if  I go  on  as  I am  doing  now  we  will  get  you  out  of 
that.” 

A copy  of  “ The  Intellectual  Life  ” was  sent  to  Aunt  Susan, 
who  received  it  just  as  she  was  going  to  visit  her  sister,  Mrs. 


376 


MEMOIR. 


Hinde,  whom  she  found  in  failing  health,  and  who  died 
shortly  after.  It  was  a new  grief  for  my  husband,  to  whom 
she  had  always  been  very  kind.  As  soon  as  tranquillity  was 
re-established  in  France,  after  the  war  and  Commune,  Mr. 
Hamerton  had  renewed  a regular  correspondence  with  his 
friends,  and,  being  greatly  interested  in  the  technique  of  the 
fine  arts,  consulted  those  friends  whose  experience  was  most  to 
be  relied  upon.  Mr.  Wyld’s  letters  are  full  of  explanation 
about  his  own  practice,  as  well  as  that  of  Decamps,  Horace 
Vernet,  Delaroche,  and  Delacroix.  In  one  of  them  I find 
this  interesting  passage : — 

“ I very  much  doubt  if  the  talent  of  coloring  can  be  learnt . I 
think  it  is  a gift  like  an  ear  for  music,  which  if  not  born  with  you 
can  never  be  perfectly  acquired  (I,  for  instance,  I am  sure , could 
never  have  perfectly  tuned  a violin).  Doubtless  if  the  faculty  ex- 
ists intuitively,  it  may  be  perfected,  or  at  all  events  much  improved 
by  study  and  practice,  but  he  that  has  it  not  from  birth,  I think, 
can  never  acquire  it.” 

Mr.  S.  Palmer,  in  a long  letter  also  devoted  to  the  techni- 
cal part  of  painting  and  etching,  turns  to  literature  to  say:  — 

“ My  pleasure  in  hearing  of  the  success  of  ‘ The  Intellectual 
Life  ’ is  qualified  only  by  the  comparative  apathy  of  the  English. 
Of  such  a hook  one  edition  here  to  three  in  America  is  something 
to  be  ashamed  of.” 

The  sale  of  the  book  was  rapid,  both  in  England  and  in  Amer- 
ica, but  the  American  sale  continued  to  be  incomparably  the 
larger.  As  early  as  February,  1874,  Roberts  Brothers  wrote : — 

“ ‘ The  Intellectual  Life  ’ is  a complete  literary  success  in 
America ; it  has  been  the  means  of  making  you  almost  a house- 
hold god  in  the  most  refined  circles.  We  are  now  selling  the 
fifth  thousand.  Our  supply  of  the  English  * Chapters  on  Ani- 
mals’1  is  all  sold,  and  we  are  now  stereotyping  the  book.  We 
hope  to  sell  a good  many.” 

The  motive  which  prompted  my  husband  to  write  these 
* chapters  ” was  purely  his  love  and  pity  for  all  dumb  creatures. 

1 Contributed  to  the  “ Portfolio,”  and  afterwards  published  separately. 


MEMOIR. 


377 


He  never  could  do  without  a dog  — and  the  dog  was  always 
the  favorite,  being  even  preferred  to  the  saddle-horse;  and 
when  out  of  compassion  for  its  infirmities  it  had  to  be  out 
of  pain,  his  master  never  shirked  the  painful  duty,  but  per- 
formed it  himself  as  mercifully  as  he  could.  One  of  his  dogs, 
which  had  long  been  treated  for  cancer,  was  at  last  chloro- 
formed to  death,  his  master  helping  the  veterinary  surgeon 
all  the  time.  Another,  who  became  suddenly  rabid,  and 
could  not  be  prevented  from  entering  the  house,  to  the  immi- 
nent peril  of  us  all,  he  met  and  stunned  at  a blow  with  a log 
of  wood,  having  no  weapon  ready.  Poor  Cocote  was  not  sold 
when  she  became  useless,  but  allowed  to  divide  her  old  age 
peacefully  between  the  freedom  of  the  pasturage  and  the  com- 
fort and  plenty  of  the  stable,  till  her  master  asked  the  best 
shot  of  the  place  (a  poacher)  to  assist  him  in  firing  a volley, 
which  quickly  put  an  end  to  her  life,  as  she  was  unsuspect- 
ingly coming  out  of  the  field.  And  he  only  came  to  this 
decision  when  we  left  the  country.  Out  of  love  or  pity  my 
husband  was  interested  in  all  animals,  and  I believe  that 
animals  were  instinctively  aware  of  it.  Dogs  always  sought 
his  caresses;  he  used  to  remove  with  his  hands  toads  from 
the  dangers  of  the  road,  and  they  did  not  seem  afraid.  He 
never  was  stung  by  bees,  though  he  often  placed  his  band  flat 
in  front  of  the  opening  in  the  hive,  so  that  they  were  obliged 
to  alight  upon  it  before  entering.  Of  the  rat  only  he  had  a 
nervous  horror,  but  it  remained  unconquerable;  he  disliked 
the  sight  of  one,  and  if  he  met  one  accidentally,  he  always 
experienced  a disagreeable  shock.  When  he  tried  to  find  out 
the  reason,  he  was  inclined  to  attribute  it  to  the  disquieting 
rapidity  and  restlessness  of  its  movements. 

In  1874  Mr.  Hamerton  began  to  write  for  the  “ Interna- 
tional Review,”  principally  on  the  fine  arts,  and  continued 
his  contributions  till  1880.  Roberts  Brothers  expressed  a 
wish  that  he  would  reserve  the  publications  in  book  form  to 
their  firm,  which  had  done  so  much  for  his  reputation. 

At  the  beginning  of  April  he  heard  from  Boston  that  they 
were  printing  the  sixth  thousand  of  the  “Intellectual  Life,” 
and  had  written  to  Messrs.  Macmillan  that  they  were  will- 


378 


MEMOIR. 


ing  to  unite  in  bringing  out  a new  edition  of  “ Etching  and 
Etchers.”  In  October  the  seventh  thousand  of  the  “Intel- 
lectual Life  ” was  being  printed;  the  second  edition  of  “ Chap- 
ters on  Animals  ” and  the  second  of  “ Thoughts  about  Art  ” 
were  about  half  gone,  and  “ A Painter’s  Camp  ” was  going  off 
quite  freely.  About  the  last  Roberts  Brothers  added:  “ This 
book  ought  to  sell  better.  We  have  reason  to  congratulate 
ourselves  that  it  so  fascinated  us  that  we  ventured  to  republish 
it.  We  are  Nature  lovers,  and  delight  to  keep  the  company 
of  one  who  loves  her  and  is  able  to  tell  of  it  as  you  can.” 

Of  course  we  cheered  Aunt  Susan  with  the  list  of  these 
successes,  and  she  answered:  “I  wish,  my  dear  P.  G.,  that 
all  your  admirers  would  be  as  generous  with  their  money  as 
they  are  with  their  flattery,  for  flattery  is  not  a commodity  to 
supply  a family  with  means  of  subsistence.”  In  the  same 
letter  she  told  of  Mr.  Hinde’s  death  and  funeral,  and  of  her 
hopes  of  seeing  her  nephew,  Ben  Hinde,  succeed  to  his 
father’s  living. 

Early  in  1874  Mr.  Hamerton  had  the  pleasure  of  becoming 
personally  acquainted  with  one  of  the  most  distinguished  of 
the  contributors  to  the  “Portfolio,” — Mr.  Sidney  Colvin, 
who  now  came  to  pay  a visit  to  the  editor,  after  nursing  his 
friend  R.  L.  Stevenson  through  one  of  his  dangerous  attacks 
of  illness.  My  husband  esteemed  highly  Mr.  Colvin’s  knowl- 
edge and  acquirements.  During  his  short  stay  this  esteem 
expanded  into  personal  regard,  and  in  after  years,  when- 
ever a meeting  with  him  was  possible,  it  invariably  afforded 
gratification. 

In  the  summer  our  house  was  turned  into  a sort  of  tem- 
porary hospital  by  an  epidemic  of  measles  brought  to  it  by 
the  boys  from  their  college.  Having  had  it  in  my  youth,  I 
luckily  was  spared  to  nurse  in  succession  the  three  children 
and  my  husband,  whose  case  was  by  far  the  most  serious. 
However,  he  would  not  take  to  his  bed,  but  remained  in  his 
study  with  a good  fire  at  night,  sleeping  upon  an  ottoman  or 
in  an  arm-chair,  wrapped  up  in  his  monk’s  dress,  and  the 
head  covered  with  an  Algerian  chechia.  In  due  course  he  got 
through  the  distemper  without  accident,  but  for  fear  of  chills 


MEMOIR. 


379 


he  continued  to  wear  the  chechia  and  monk’s  dress  in  the 
house  some  time  after  his  recovery , and  he  was  so  discovered 
by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mark  Pattison  when  they  paid  us  an  unex- 
pected visit.  It  happened  thus.  I had  driven  my  sister  and 
her  youngest  boy  to  Autun,  where  he  had  been  invited  to 
stay  a few  days  at  his  godmother’s,  and  as  we  alighted  in 
the  courtyard  of  the  hotel  I was  told  that  an  English  gentle- 
man and  his  wife  had  ordered  an  omnibus  to  call  upon  Mr. 
Hamerton,  and  were  on  the  point  of  starting.  On  learning 
that  I was  at  the  hotel  they  came  to  propose  that  I should  go 
back  to  La  Tuilerie  with  them,  which  proposition  I accepted 
with  pleasure.  I left  the  pony-carriage,  told  my  sister  that 
I would  fetch  her  in  the  evening,  and  drove  off  with  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Pattison,  the  latter  very  much  interested  by  what  I 
could  point  out  to  her  on  the  way,  — the  Temple  of  Janus, 
the  Roman  archways,  the  double  walls  of  the  town,  and  Mont 
Beuvray. 

The  drive  from  Autun  to  La  Tuilerie  is  a short  one,  and 
we  soon  arrived  at  the  garden  gate.  As  we  stopped,  the  study 
window  was  quickly,  almost  violently,  thrown  open,  my  hus- 
band’s anxious  face  appeared  through  it,  and  he  shouted  to 
the  bewildered  coachman,  “ What  has  happened  ? ” At  the 
sight  of  an  omnibus  he  had  been  afraid  of  an  accident  (not  at 
all  unusual  with  Cocote’s  tendency  to  take  fright,  run  away, 
and  upset  carriage  and  all),  and  had  fancied  me  hurt,  and 
brought  back  laid  upon  the  cushioned  seat.  But  as  soon  as 
he  saw  me  safe  and  sound,  and  noticed  my  companions,  he 
hastened  down  to  receive  his  visitors.  We  spent  the  after- 
noon very  pleasantly,  but  as  it  was  getting  cooler  and  a little 
damp  after  sunset,  my  husband,  who  was  not  fully  recovered, 
had  to  excuse  himself  from  accompanying  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Pattison  back  to  Autun,  and  to  let  me  go  instead.  I had 
the  pleasure  of  a second  meeting  with  them  on  the  following 
morning  at  the  hotel,  when  we  took  leave  of  each  other. 

I have  always  remembered  an  incident  in  connection  with 
this  visit  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pattison  never  knew  of.  There 
had  been  in  our  entrance  hall  for  the  last  four  months  at  least, 
a manuscript  notice  written  very  legibly  by  Mr.  Hamerton, 


380 


MEMOIR. 


and  carefully  pasted  up  with  his  own  hands,  in  a very  good 
light  by  the  side  of  the  drawing-room  door,  to  this  effect: 
“ English  visitors  to  this  house  are  earnestly  requested  not 
to  stay  after  seven  o’clock  p.  m.  if  not  invited  to  dine;  and 
when  invited  to  dine,  not  to  consider  themselves  as  entitled 
to  the  use  of  a bedroom,  unless  particularly  requested  to 
remain.  ” 

This  had  been  done  in  a moment  of  legitimate  anger  and 
vexation  (of  course  without  consulting  me),  and  I had  thought 
it  the  best  policy  to  ignore  it  for  some  time  — particularly 
during  winter,  when  it  was  put  up,  for  there  was  little  prob- 
ability of  English  visitors  at  that  time.  As  to  French  visi- 
tors, it  was  unlikely  that  they  could  make  out  its  meaning, 
and  if  they  did,  as  it  did  not  concern  them,  they  would  con- 
sider it  as  a humorous  boutade.  After  a fortnight,  however, 
I begged  my  husband  to  remove  the  “notice;  ” but  his  anger 
had  not  cooled  a bit,  and  he  said  in  a tone  that  I knew  to 
admit  of  no  opposition  that  the  “ notice  ” was  meant  to  remain 
there  permanently.  And  there  it  remained,  at  first  partially, 
and  by  degrees  almost  entirely,  covered  up  by  the  shawls  or 
mantles  that  I artfully  spread  as  far  as  possible  over  the 
obnoxious  manuscript,  till,  emboldened  by  non-interference, 
and  under  pretext  that  the  wall-paper  about  the  door  was 
soiled,  I got  leave  to  have  a new  piece  hung,  and  took  care 
to  have  it  laid  over  the  notice.  This  took  place  on  the  very 
day  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pattison  paid  their  friendly  visit. 

I must  now  explain  the  cause  of  my  husband’s  temporary 
ukase.  As  I have  said  before,  M.  Bulliot,  President  of  the 
Societe  Eduenne,  was  a friend  of  his,  and  on  one  occasion, 
a Scotchman  having  applied  to  him  for  permission  to  see  a 
precious  book  kept  in  the  archives  of  the  learned  society, 
M.  Bulliot,  finding  him  well-bred  and  interesting,  took  the 
trouble  of  bringing  him  to  La  Tuilerie,  in  the  hope  that  Mr. 

Hamerton  and  Mr.  W would  derive  pleasure  from  the 

meeting.  It  was  so,  and  Mr.  W ’s  researches  at  Autun 

requiring  a few  days  only,  he  was  invited  to  dinner  for  the 
morrow.  He  duly  arrived  and  dined,  but  as  he  gave  no  sign 
of  going  away,  I asked  him  a little  before  ten  if  he  was  a 


MEMOIR. 


381 


good  walker,  as  the  hotels  at  Autun  closed  at  eleven.  He 
merely  answered,  “No  matter.”  Looking  already  like  an 
old  man,  and  weak  besides,  I felt  certain  that  he  could  not 
possibly  reach  the  town  in  time  for  a bed,  and  I quietly 
retired  to  mine.  My  husband  told  me  in  the  morning  that 

he  had  shown  Mr.  W to  the  spare  room,  unwilling  to 

turn  an  old  man  out  in  the  cold  and  mist  of  an  early  morning. 
I foresaw  a repetition  of  what  had  happened  at  Pre-Charmoy. 

And  so  it  proved,  for  Mr.  W quartered  himself  upon  us 

for  two  days,  and  it  is  impossible  to  say  how  much  longer 
he  would  have  stayed  if  my  husband  had  not  at  last  insisted 
peremptorily  on  driving  him  hack  to  Autun. 

On  reaching  home  Gilbert  immediately  went  up  to  his 
study  to  write  his  “Notice  to  English  visitors,”  and  with- 
out saying  a word  securely  pasted  it  up  at  the  entrance.  A 
few  days  later  he  heard  from  the  proprietor  of  the  Hotel  de 

la  Poste,  that  before  leaving  Mr.  W had  said,  “ Mr. 

Hamerton  will  settle  the  bill.” 

It  was  a good  thing  for  my  husband  that  he  gave  so  much 
consideration  to  the  bringing  up  of  his  children,  for  in- 
directly he  derived  from  it  some  benefit  to  his  own  health; 
for  instance,  not  wishing  them  to  he  always  confined  to  col- 
lege, he  used  often  to  drive  them  to  and  from  Autun;  and  in 
the  summer,  as  he  came  back,  he  would  just  stop  the  pony  for 
a few  minutes  at  our  gate  to  pick  up  the  rest  of  the  family 
and  a hamper,  then  take  us  to  a cool  and  shady  dell  divided 
from  a little  wood  by  the  river  Yesvre  — the  coldest  water  I 
ever  bathed  in ; and  as  soon  as  Cocote  was  taken  out  of  harness 
and  left  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  fresh  grass,  we  all  tumbled 
into  the  icy  water,  and  swam  till  our  appetites  were  thoroughly 
sharpened  for  a hearty  dinner  in  the  lingering  twilight. 

The  children  were  also  taken  by  their  father  to  the  hills, 
where  they  climbed  about  whilst  he  sketched;  his  little 
daughter  Mary  liked  nothing  better  than  to  spend  a day  “ au 
Pommoy  ” above  the  beautiful  valley  of  the  Canche,  where 
the  parents  of  our  servant-girl  lived.  They  were  farmers  in 
a very  humble  way,  hut  they  offered  us  heartily  the  little 
they  possessed,  — the  new-laid  eggs,  the  clotted  cream,  which 


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MEMOIR . 


the  children  delighted  in,  thickly  spread  upon  black  bread, 
and  which  the  mother  prepared  in  perfection;  also  frothy 
goat’s  milk,  with  walnuts  and  chestnuts  in  their  season. 
Cocote,  too,  had  free  access  to  the  dainty  grass  and  crystal 
spring  of  their  pasturage  in  the  hollow  behind  the  cottage. 
Whilst  my  husband  painted  and  I read  to  him,  we  watched 
the  children,  who,  bare-footed  and  bare-legged,  turned  up  the 
stones  in  the  river-bed  seeking  for  trout  and  cray-fish.  In 
the  course  of  these  pleasant  excursions  Gilbert  entered  into 
conversation  with  every  one  he  met  — farmers,  shepherdesses, 
cow-boys,  and  even  beggars,  learning  what  he  could  of  their 
lives  and  thoughts,  sympathizing  with  their  labors  and  their 
wants,  often  conveying  useful  information  to  their  minds* 
frequently  on  politics,  sometimes  on  geography  or  science. 
He  tried  to  explain  to  them  the  railways  and  telegraph,  for 
many  of  the  dwellers  in  these  hilly  regions  had  never  seen  a 
railroad,  especially  the  old  folk,  who  could  no  longer  walk 
any  great  distance,  and  remembered  Autun  only  as  it  was  in 
the  time  of  the  diligences.  He  liked  the  polite,  deferential 
manners  of  the  French  peasants  and  their  quiet  dignity ; and 
they  felt  at  ease  with  him  because  of  his  serious  interest  in 
what  concerned  them,  and  total  absence  of  pride  in  the  supe- 
riority of  his  station  or  learning.  Wherever  he  went  he 
liked  to  see  the  parish  church,  and  generally  found  it  worth 
his  while,  either  artistically  or  historically.  The  cure  was 
frequently  to  be  met  with,  and  not  sorry  to  talk  with  a person 
better  informed  than  most  of  his  parishioners:  it  was  for 
Gilbert  another  field  to  glean  from,  and  on  such  occasions  he 
generally  managed  to  bring  home  a sheaf  with  him.  It  was 
most  remarkable  to  see  how  well  he  got  on  with  the  Eoman 
Catholic  clergy,  although  his  religious  opinions  were  never 
hidden  from  them,  and  his  attitude  by  no  means  conducive 
to  hopes  of  conversion;  but  on  the  other  hand,  he  was  not 
aggressive,  and  did  not  turn  into  ridicule  ceremonies  or  beliefs 
to  which  he  remained  a stranger.  Perfectly  firm  in  his  own 
convictions,  he  respected  those  of  other  people,  because  his 
large  sympathy  understood  the  different  wants  of  different 
natures,  even  when  he  had  no  share  in  them.  He  was 


MEMOIR. 


383 


always  on  visiting  terms  with  our  cure  (the  one  officiating 
at  Tavernay  — the  nearest  village  to  La  Tuilerie),  and  on 
friendly  terms  with  the  Aumonier  de  PHopital  and  the 
Aumonier  de  College  (although  the  boys  were  not  under  his 
spiritual  direction,  their  father  considering  it  as  a duty  to  let 
them  choose  their  own  religion  when  they  were  of  age)  ; later 
on  PAbbe  Antoine,  professor  at  the  seminary,  became  a faith- 
ful and  welcome  visitor  to  La  Tuilerie;  even  Monseigneur 
the  Bishop  of  Autun  gave  a signal  proof  of  his  respect  for  Mr. 
Hamerton’s  character,  which  will  be  related  in  due  course, 
and  visited  him  afterwards  so  long  as  we  remained  in  the 
Autunois. 

The  technical  difficulties  of  painting,  which  were  giving 
my  husband  so  much  trouble  to  conquer,  led  him  to  speak  not 
unfrequently  of  the  advantages  formerly  afforded  to  students 
by  the  privilege  of  working  in  the  same  studios  with  their 
masters,  and  even  of  having  some  portions  of  the  masters’ 
pictures  to  execute  under  their  personal  and  invaluable  direc- 
tion. He  realized  what  a gain  it  would  be,  not  only  for 
beginners,  but  even  for  artists,  to  be  acquainted  with  the  best 
methods  of  the  best  artists,  and  at  last,  counting  upon  their 
well-known  generosity,  he  resolved  to  make  a general  appeal 
to  their  experience.  They  were  almost  unanimously  favor- 
able to  the  idea,  and  furnished  valuable  notes,  the  substance 
of  which  was  published  in  the  4 Portfolio.  ” The  letters  are 
too  technical,  though  very  interesting,  to  be  quoted  here,  but 
the  eminent  names  of  the  writers  will  he  a proof  of  the  impor- 
tance attached  to  the  subject.  I find  those  of  Sir  Frederick 
Leighton,  Sir  John  Gilbert,  Watts,  Holman  Hunt,  Samuel 
Palmer,  Calderon,  Wyld,  Dobson,  Davis,  Storey,  etc.,  etc.,  in 
the  notes  still  in  my  possession. 

My  husband  was  himself  in  the  habit  of  making  experi- 
ments in  painting  and  etching,  though  he  deplored  both  the 
time  and  money  so  spent,  and  repeatedly  resolved  not  to 
meddle  any  more  with  them;  but  he  could  not  keep  the  reso- 
lution. His  mind  was  so  curious  about  all  possible  processes 
and  technicalities,  and  his  desire  of  perfection  so  great,  that 
not  only  did  he  experiment  in  all  the  known  processes,  but 


384 


MEMOIR. 


invented  new  ones.  Entries  in  the  note-book  like  the  follow- 
ing are  of  frequent  occurrence 

“ Experiments  with  white  zinc  did  not  succeed.” 

“ This  month  tried  sulphur  with  success.  I discovered  also 
that  the  three-cornered  scraper  is  excellent  for  obtaining  various 
breadths  of  line  in  the  background.” 

“I  made  a successful  experiment  in  sandpaper  mezzotint.” 

“M.  de  Fontenay  and  I made  creme  d’ argent  very  cheaply 
indeed.” 

“ To-day  I tried  experiments  on  grains : the  grains  given  by  the 
sandpaper  and  rosin.  That  given  by  the  fine  glass-paper  was  the 
best.” 

“ Quite  determined  to  put  a stop  to  all  experiments,  in  view  of 
typographic  drawings.” 

Here  is  an  important  entry,  August  19,  1875:  — 

“ Resolved  in  future  to  confine  myself  exclusively  to  oil- 
painting  and  etching  in  all  artistic  work  done  for  the  public, 
except  the  designs  for  the  bindings  of  my  books,  which  may 
be  done  in  water-colors. 

“ Resolved  also  that  there  shall  be  as  little  as  possible  of  copy- 
ing and  slavery  in  my  artistic  work,  but  that  Etching  shall  be 
Etching,  and  Painting  Painting.” 

He  had  been  working  very  hard,  copying  etchings  for  the 
new  edition  of  “Etching  and  Etchers,”  and  was  thoroughly 
tired  of  it.  I see  in  his  diary : — 

“Finished  my  plate  after  Rembrandt.  N.  B. — Will  never 
undertake  a set  of  copies  again.” 

“ Felt  it  a great  deliverance  to  be  rid  of  plates  for  ‘ Etching  and 
Etchers.’  ” 

A later  note : — 

“There  is  no  technical  difficulty  for  me  in  etching.  I ought 
therefore  to  direct  my  energies  against  the  artistic  difficulties  of 
composition,  drawing,  light  and  shade.  Haden’s  ‘ Agamemnon  ’ 
is  the  model  for  the  kind  of  work  I should  like  to  be  able  to  do  in 
etching.  Comprehensive  sketching  is  the  right  thing.” 


MEMOIR. 


385 


Meanwhile  our  boys  were  growing,  and  giving  great  satis- 
faction to  their  father  by  their  application  to  and  success  in 
their  studies;  they  always  kept  at  the  head  of  their  class,  and 
carried  off  a great  number  of  prizes  at  the  end  of  every  scho- 
lastic year.  The  younger  boy,  Richard,  evinced  an  early 
taste  for  the  pictorial  arts,  and  was  gifted  with  a sure  critical 
faculty  and  a natural  talent  for  drawing.  Although  he  had 
never  taken  regular  drawing-lessons,  he  had  often  watched  his 
father  at  work,  had  occasionally  sketched  and  painted  under 
his  direction,  and  was  receiving  a sort  of  artistic  education  by 
what  he  saw  at  home  of  illustrated  periodicals,  engravings, 
and  etchings  sent  for  presentation  or  criticism.  He  was  early 
tempted  to  try  etching,  and  of  course  received  encouragement 
and  help;  the  first  attempt  was  a success,  as  far  as  it  wrent, 
and  Mr.  S.  Palmer  wrote  about  it : — 

“ Your  son’s  etching  has  given  pleasure  to  other  than  ‘ parental 
eyes.’  ‘What  a sweet  little  etching,’  said  my  wife,  who  saw  it 
lying  on  the  table ; ‘ it  is  like  an  old  master.’  There  is  something 
touching  in  the  sight  of  a beginner,  full  of  curiosity  and  hope. 
My  yearning  is,  ‘O  that  he  may  escape  the  rocks  on  which  I 
split  — years  wasted,  any  one  of  which  would  have  given  a first 
grounding  in  anatomy,  indispensable  anatomy,  to  have  gone  with 
the  antique.  The  bones  are  the  master-key ; the  marrowless  bones 
are  the  talisman  of  all  life  and  power  in  Art.  Power  seems  to  de- 
pend upon  knowledge  of  structure;  all  surface  upon  substance; 
knowing  this,  and  imbued  with  the  central  essence,  we  may  ven- 
ture to  copy  the  appearance,  perhaps  even  imitate  it.” 

Mr.  Seeley  also  wrote,  with  sly  humor:  “Your  boy’s  etch- 
ing is  capital.  It  would  be  interesting  to  know  what  pro- 
cesses this  remarkable  artist  employs.” 

Richard  frequently  expressed  his  intention  of  being  a 
painter;  but  his  father,  though  much  pleased  to  notice  in  the 
boy  a real  tendency  towards  art,  did  not  at  all  feel  certain 
that  there  were  in  him  the  gifts  indispensable  to  the  making 
of  an  artist.  I was  often  told  that,  despite  the  cleverness  of 
his  copies,  and  even  of  his  caricatures,  he  seemed  to  lack 
invention  and  originality.  However,  it  was  understood  that 
he  would  be  allowed  a fair  trial,  — but  only  after  taking  his 

25 


386 


MEMOIR. 


degree  of  “Bachelier  es-lettres,”  for  his  father  was  of  opinion 
that  perhaps  more  for  artists  than  for  men  in  other  profes- 
sions, a liberal  education  was  necessary  to  the  development  of 
the  finest  aptitudes.  He  also  thought  that  the  boys  might 
now  appreciate  English  poetry,  and  selected  short  passages 
from  the  best  poets,  which  he  read  aloud  in  the  evenings, 
whilst  they  followed  with  books  in  their  hands;  it  accus- 
tomed them  to  the  rhythm  and  to  the  music  of  the  language, 
and  the  peculiar  qualities  of  each  piece  were  explained  to 
them  afterwards.  Little  Mary  Susan  also  received  encourage- 
ment in  the  practice  of  her  music,  for  I see  this  entry  on 
March  7,  1875:  “My  little  daughter  and  I played  piano 
and  violin  together  to-day  for  the  first  time.” 

Very  slowly  and  gradually  his  health  had  improved,  and  he 
was  in  1875  almost  free  from  nervousness,  but  he  had  not  yet 
dared  to  attempt  railway  travelling;  he  had  occasion  to  write 
to  Mr.  Seymour  Haden,  and  here  is  part  of  the  reply:  — 

“ First,  I am  delighted  to  hear  that  the  improvement  in  your 
health  maintains  itself  ; next,  that  I shall  be  very  happy  to  do  you 
a plate  for  the  ‘Portfolio.’  I was  with  Macmillan  the  other  day, 
and  heard  from  him  that  you  were  at  work  upon  a new  edition  of 
‘ Etching  and  Etchers.’  He  spoke  so  well  of  you  and  of  your  work, 
that  I am  empresse  to  report  him  to  you  in  this.  It  must  be  a 
great  satisfaction  to  you,  after  the  extraordinary  life  you  have  led, 
to  find  that  it  is  producing  such  satisfactory  results.  May  it  and 
the  good  effect  which  attends  it  continue  ! And  this  brings  me  to 
speak  of  your  railway  malady.  It  does  not  differ  from  other  cases 
of  the  kind  in  any  one  particular.  It  is  an  idiosyncracy.  It  is  not 
to  be  got  over  by  medicine  (certainly  not  by  chloral),  but  by  time 
— or  rather,  by  the  difference  induced  in  the  constitution  by  age. 
A man  may  be  subject  to  all  you  describe  at  forty,  and  actually 
free  from  such  symptons  at  fifty  — and  I should  advise  you  to 
test  yourself,  after  so  long  an  abstinence  from  this  mode  of  travel, 
by  a short  journey  now  and  then.  No  accumulative  mischief  could 
arrive  — and  you  may  find,  to  your  great  satisfaction,  that  you  have 
entirely  lost  your  enemy.  If  you  do,  by  all  means  come,  pay  us  a 
visit,  and  see  what  we  are  doing  in  England.  I have  done  an 
etching  of  Turner’s  ‘ Calais  Pier,’  36  inches  square , which  is  by 
many  degrees  the  finest  thing  (if  I may  be  permitted  so  superla- 
tive an  expression)  I have  done  or  ever  shall  do.  I mean  to 


MEMOIR. 


387 


publish  it  about  the  close  of  the  year.  I have  built  a press  for 
printing  it,  and  am  having  paper  made  expressly,  and  real  sepia 
(which  is  magnificent  — both  iu  color  and  price)  got  from  the 
Adriatic  for  the  ink ! so  that  great  things  ought  to  result 

And  the  result  was  certainly  by  far  the  finest  of  modern 
etchings,  according  to  Mr.  Hamerton’s  opinion;  in  some 
particulars  he  preferred  the  “Agamemnon,”  but  the  size  of 
“ Calais  Pier  ” as  an  increase  of  difficulty  was  to  be  con- 
sidered , and  if  the  “ Agamemnon  ” was  an  original  concep- 
tion, it  cannot  be  said  that  “ Calais  Pier  ” was  a copy  — so 
much  being  due  to  interpretation.  Later  on,  when  my  hus- 
band was  in  possession  of  this  chef-d’oeuvre , it  always  occu- 
pied the  place  of  honor  in  the  house. 

Following  Mr.  Haden’s  advice,  he  now  tried  short  railway 
journeys  at  intervals,  by  slow  trains,  so  that  he  could  get 
out  frequently  at  the  numerous  stations,  — not  to  allow  the 
accumulating  effect  of  the  vibration,  — and  generally  in  the 
night.  There  are  some  short  entries  about  it  in  the  diary : — 

“ October  7,  1875.  Went  to  Laisy  in  boat  with  M.  de  Fontenay  ; 
the  day  was  most  lovely.  Came  back  in  the  train  without  feeling 
any  inconvenience.” 

“ October  12,  1875.  Went  from  Laisy  to  Etang  by  the  river. 
Dined  there ; returned  by  train  in  the  evening  all  right.  We  had 
no  accidents,  except  on  a little  sunken  rock  after  Chaseux,  when 
M.  de  Fontenay’s  boat  was  upset.” 

In  this  manner  he  used  to  go  to  Chalon  (there  was  rather 
a long  stoppage  at  Chagny  for  change  of  train)  to  stay  two 
or  three  days  with  my  mother  and  brother,  who  lived  there. 
He  was  still  anxious  and  uneasy,  but  he  nerved  himself  to 
bear  the  discomfort,  in  the  hope  that  he  would  get  inured  to 
it  in  time,  and  he  used  to  close  his  eyes  as  soon  as  he  was 
in  the  carriage,  and  to  draw  the  curtains  to  avoid  seeing  the 
objects  that  we  passed  on  the  line. 

In  the  summer  of  1875  he  received  from  the  new  owner  of 
Innistrynich  an  invitation  to  revisit  the  dear  island.  Noth- 
ing could  have  given  him  more  pleasure.  Mr.  Muir  gave  him 
all  the  details  of  the  improvements  he  had  effected,  but  said : — 


388 


MEMOIR. 


u I retained  the  old  cottage,  with  its  twelve  small  apartments, 
and  added  a new  front,  containing  five  rooms. 

“ I saw  Donald  Macorquodale  [whom  my  husband  often  had  in 
the  boat  with  him]  ; he  was  much  pleased  to  hear  that  you  had 
been  inquiring  about  him.  He  is  now  getting  frail,  and  not  very 
able  to  work.  He  requested  me  to  say  that  he  was  very  glad  to 
hear  of  you,  and  would  be  delighted  to  see  you  at  Loch  Awe.  He 
sold  the  boats  you  were  so  kind  as  to  give  him,  but  he  only  re- 
ceived a small  sum  for  them,  having  kept  them  too  long.” 

My  husband  never  forgot  his  old  servants,  and  showed  his 
interest  in  them  whenever  he  could;  they  had  great  affection 
and  respect  for  him,  mingled  with  awe,  well  knowing  that, 
although  he  gave  his  orders  kindly,  he  meant  to  be  obeyed. 
There  was  a very  trusty  widow,  who  came  to  our  house  twice 
a week,  and  I remember  finding  her  in  tears,  and  asking  what 
was  the  matter.  “Ah!  c’est  Monsieur  qui  m’a  grondee,”  she 
sobbed  desperately.  “ But  what  has  he  said  to  put  you  in 
such  a state?”  “ Oh!  he  did  not  say  much;  only,  ‘Lazarette, 
why  will  you  scratch  off  the  paint  with  the  matches  ? * . . . 

‘ Mais  quand  Monsieur  gronde,’  ”...  and  there  was  a fresh 
explosion. 

It  was  well  that  my  husband’s  health  was  better,  for  it 
enabled  him  to  bear  the  saddening  news  of  his  uncle  Thomas’s 
approaching  end;  he  had,  for  the  last  few  months,  grown 
weaker  and  weaker,  till  his  sister  wrote : — 

“West  Lodge.  September  1875. 

“ The  loss  of  my  dear  worthy  brother  is  indeed  a sad  blow  to  me, 
and  I was  not  able  to  attend  the  funeral.  ...  I am  better  now, 
though  the  doctor  is  still  in  attendance  upon  me.  I should  indeed 
have  liked  you  both  to  have  been  here,  but  I could  not  press  you, 
or  even  expect  you  to  run  such  a risk.  . . . Still,  I look  forward 
to  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  all  at  West  Lodge  before  the  winter 
sets  in.” 

It  may  be  here  briefly  explained  that  Miss  Susan  Hamerton 
greatly  needed  her  nephew’s  advice  about  money  matters; 
they  had  been  hitherto  managed  by  her  brother,  and  she  had 
had  no  care  about  it;  but  now,  after  entrusting  what  she  pos- 


MEMOIR . 


389 


sessed  to  a person  recommended  by  Mr.  T.  Hamerton,  she  had 
become  aware  that  it  was  not  safe,  and  was  afraid  of  losing 
the  savings  she  had  been  able  to  make,  for  she  had  no  control 
over  the  capital. 

It  was  difficult  to  explain  all  this  by  letters,  and  she  was 
anxious  to  give  all  the  details  by  word  of  mouth,  consequently 
she  grew  more  and  more  pressing  in  the  expression  of  the 
desire  that  her  nephew  should  attempt  the  journey;  he  was 
not  to  be  detained  by  the  consideration  of  expense,  for  she 
intended  to  make  him  a present  of  some  bank-shares  which 
she  no  longer  wanted,  since  her  brother  had  left  her  an 
increase  of  income  for  her  life. 

My  husband  resolved  to  undertake  the  long  journey  in  the 
course  of  1876,  and  to  arrange  his  work  in  view  of  it.  Besides 
his  contributions  to  different  periodicals,  he  had  in  the  year 
1875  entirely  written  “ Bound  my  House,”  prepared  the  new 
edition  of  “ Etching  and  Etchers,”  got  the  notes  necessary  for 
the  “ Life  of  Turner,  ” and  given  much  consideration  to  a plan 
mentioned  thus  in  the  note-book:  “December  28,  1875. 
Feel  inclined  to  write  a book  on  remarkable  Frenchmen,  such 
as  the  Amperes,  Victor  Jacquemont,  the  Cur4  d’Ars,  and  a 
few  others  who  interest  me.” 


390 


MEMOIR. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

1876-1877. 

“ Round  my  House.”  — Journey  to  England  after  seven  years’  absence. 
— Friends  in  London.  — Visit  to  Mr.  Samuel  Palmer.  — Articles 
for  the  “Encyclopaedia  Britannica.” — Death  of  my  sister.  — Mr. 
Appleton. 

The  note-book  for  1876  opened  with  the  following  rules, 
written  by  my  husband  for  his  own  guidance : — 

“ Rise  at  six  in  winter  and  five  in  summer.  Go  to  bed  at  eleven 
in  winter  and  ten  in  summer.  There  must  be  two  literary  sittings 
every  day  of  two  hours  each.  The  first  to  be  over  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible, in  order  to  leave  me  free  for  practical  art  work ; the  second 
to  begin  at  five  p.  m.,  and  end  at  seven  p.  m. 

“ Something  really  worth  reading  must  be  read  every  day,  the 
quantity  not  fixed. 

“ I must  go  out  every  day  whatever  the  weather  may  be. 

“Time  may  be  taken,  no  matter  when,  for  putting  things  in 
order.  The  best  way  is  to  do  it  every  morning  before  setting  to 
work.  It  is  better  to  try  to  keep  things  in  order  than  to  accumu- 
late disorder. 

“ Keep  everything  quite  in  readiness  for  immediate  work  in 
literature  and  art. 

“ When  tired,  rest  completely,  but  never  dawdle.  Be  either  in 
harness  or  out  of  harness  avowedly.  Special  importance  is  to  be 
given  to  painting  this  year.  Pictures  are  to  be  first  painted  in 
monochrome,  in  raw  umber  and  white.  Read  one  thing  at  a time 
in  one  language.  All  rules  suspended  during  fatigue.” 

At  the  beginning  of  the  year  Roberts  Brothers  had  asked  for 
a photograph  of  the  now  popular  author  of  “ The  Intellectual 
Life.”  In  April  they  acknowledged  the  receipt  of  two,  and 
were  sending  some  copies  of  the  engraving  from  them.  They 
also  said:  — 

“ Suppose  we  should  wish  to  bring  out  an  edition  of  ‘ Wender- 
holme  ’ this  autumn,  would  you  abridge  and  rewrite  it  ? Con- 
densation would  be  likely  to  make  it  more  powerful  and  more 


MEMOIR. 


391 


interesting.  Or  perhaps  you  would  rather  write  an  entirely  new 
novel  ? W e think  such  a novel  as  you  could  write  would  have  a 
large  sale. 

“ The  accompanying  letters  will  interest  you  as  proofs  of  your 
growing  popularity.  We  mail  you  to-day,  by  request  of  Miss  May 
Alcott,  a copy  of  her  father’s  clever  little  volume,  ‘ Concord  Days.’ 
A fine  old  gentleman  he  is,  the  worthy  father  of  the  most  popular 
of  American  authoresses.” 

Here  is  Miss  May  Alcott’s  letter : — 

“My  dear  Mr.  Hamerton, — I am  pleased  and  proud  that 
you  should  have  considered  my  letter  worthy  an  answer,  and  I 
am  still  more  gratified  to  be  allowed  the  satisfaction  of  selecting 
the  best  pictures  of  Concord’s  great  man  for  you.  Mr.  Emerson 
has  been  for  more  than  thirty  years  the  most  intimate  friend  of 
my  father,  as  also  Mrs.  Emerson  and  mother ; the  daughters  and 
myself  growing  up  together.  And  as  father  is  thought  to  know 
and  understand  the  poet  perhaps  better  than  any  other  contempo- 
rary, I venture  sending  by  post  one  of  his  books,  which  contains 
an  essay  on  Mr.  Emerson,  which  may  interest  you.  It  was 
thought  so  fine  and  true  on  its  first  appearance  that  it  was  pub- 
lished in  illuminated  form  for  private  circulation  only;  but  as 
there  is  not  a copy  of  the  small  edition  to  be  obtained,  I send 
‘ Concord  Days  ’ instead.  This  morning,  on  receipt  of  your  very 
kind  reply  to  my  letter,  I went  to  Mr.  Emerson’s  study  and  read 
him  the  paragraph  relating  to  himself,  which  pleased  him  exceed- 
ingly ; and  while  his  daughter  Ellen  stood  smilingly  beside  him, 
he  said,  ‘But  I know  Mr.  Hamerton  better  than  he  thinks  for, 
as  I have  read  his  earlier  works,  and  though  I did  not  meet  him 
while  in  England,  I value  all  he  writes.’  Then  I showed  him  the 
two  pictures  which  father  and  I thought  the  preferable  likenesses, 
which  I enclose  by  mail  to  you,  though  he  produced  a collection 
taken  at  Elliot  and  Fry’s,  Baker  Street,  London,  from  which  we 
find  none  better  on  the  whole  than  this  head,  which  gives  his 
exact  expression,  and  the  little  one  giving  the  tout  ensemble  of  the 
man  we  admire  so  much.” 

Few  things  could  have  given  greater  pleasure  to  Mr.  Hamer- 
ton than  to  learn  that  his  works  were  appreciated  by  such  a 
writer  and  thinker  as  Mr.  Emerson,  whose  books  he  studied 
and  enjoyed  and  quoted  very  frequently.  But  he  was  quite 


392 


MEMOIR. 


put  out  by  the  engraving  of  his  portrait,  which,  indeed,  could 
not  be  called  a likeness.  He  wrote  as  much  to  Roberts 
Brothers,  who  replied : “We  are  not  a bit  disappointed  to  hear 
that  you  don’t  like  the  head,  for  we  have  come  to  consider 
the  dislike  of  all  authors  to  similar  things  as  chronic.”  They 
offered,  however,  to  have  the  plate  corrected  according  to  the 
victim’s  directions,  and  added:  “But  take  heart  upon  the 
fact  that  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  out  of  a thousand  who 
look  upon  it  believe  it  to  be  a facsimile  of  yourself,  and 
where  ignorance  is  bliss,  ’tis  folly  to  be  wise.” 

In  another  letter,  they  say  again:  — 

“ The  head,  which  to  you  is  an  insurmountable  defect,  is  favor- 
ably looked  upon  by  everybody.  If  Mrs.  Hamerton  should  hear 
the  praise  from  fair  lips  she  would  certainly  be  jealous.  However, 
the  engraver  will  see  how  nearly  he  can  conform  to  your  wishes, 
and  perhaps  we  may  be  able  to  please  you  yet.” 

No  praises  from  lips  however  fair  would  have  induced  me 
to  put  up  with  the  portrait,  and  I said  so  frankly,  without 
being  at  all  influenced  by  jealousy,  for  in  my  opinion  the 
original  was  far  handsomer  in  expression  and  bearing  than 
the  likeness;  but  Roberts  Brothers,  who  had  never  seen  the 
original,  still  clung  to  the  obnoxious  engraving,  and  wrote 
again:  “ If  we  are  deluded,  and  happy  in  that  delusion,  why 
should  you  care?  Mrs.  Hamerton,  she  must  confess  it,  is 
jealous  of  our  fair  countrywomen.”  Nevertheless  it  was 
withdrawn  in  deference  to  our  wishes. 

Mr.  Powers  was  now  and  then  discreetly  reminding  Mr. 
Hamerton  of  his  promised  pictures,  and  after  hearing  from  the 
painter  that  they  were  safe  (whatever  that  may  have  brought 
to  his  mind)  sent  these  verses : — 

“MY  PICTURES. 

“ A famous  artist  over  the  sea 
Promised  to  paint  two  pictures  for  me. 

“ He  wrought,  but  his  colors  would  not  show 
His  pure  ideal  and  heart’s  warm  glow. 


MEMOIR. 


393 


“ And  so  the  paintings  are  still  unsent, 

Though  years  ago  their  spirit  went. 

“ Two  pictures  hang  in  my  treasured  thought  — 

My  dream  of  those  the  artist  wrought. 

" They  are  sweet  and  fadeless,  and  soothe  my  sight, 
When  weary  and  sad,  with  a strange  delight. 

“ But  the  light  which  shows  their  marvellous  art 
Is  the  generous  glow  of  the  painter’s  heart. 

“ This  is  the  way  that  there  came  to  me 
The  gift  of  pictures  from  over  the  sea.” 

“ ANSWER. 

“ There ’s  a parson  out  West  in  Chicago, 

To  whom  I did  promise  — long  ago  — 

A couple  of  pictures, 

Not  fearing  strictures 
Of  the  critical  folk  of  Chicago. 

“ Time  passed,  and  the  works  were  not  finished ; 
Time  passed,  yet  with  hope  undiminished, 

That  parson  he  wrote, 

And  my  conscience  he  smote, 

And  so  was  I greatly  punished. 

“ For  a promise  is  not  a pie-crust, 

And  * I will  ’ is  changed  to  ‘ I must  ’ 

When  you  say  to  a friend  — 

‘ Two  pictures  I ’ll  send,' 

And  he  orders  the  cadres  in  trust. 

“ Then  the  parson  he  sighed  in  despair  — 

* Where  are  my  two  pictures  ? — O where  ? ' 

In  regions  ideal 
Far,  far  from  the  real, 

Like  cloudscapes  that  melt  into  air. 

“ And  then  I thought  — * Now  it  grows  serious, 

For  deferred  hope  is  most  deleterious ; 

Yet  how  can  I toil 
In  color  and  oil 

In  a world  where  the  publishers  weary  us  ? ’ 


394 


MEMOIR. 


“ Ah  me ! for  a month  with  the  flowers, 

And  the  sweet  April  sunshine  and  showers. 

To  paint  with  delight 
From  morning  till  night, 

For  my  dear  friend,  Horatio  N.  Powers ! ” 

It  may  be  said  here  that  the  pictures  were  completed  and 
packed  off  in  the  beginning  of  October,  1876. 

In  view  of  a series  of  large  etchings  Mr.  Hamerton  went 
to  Decize,  on  the  Loire,  where  he  hoped  to  find  material  for 
several  subjects.  He  made  twenty  sketches  of  the  town, 
river,  boats,  etc.,  and  then  called  upon  M.  Hanoteau,  the 
painter,  who  had  expressed  a desire  for  his  acquaintance. 
There  is  a short  note  relating  the  visit : — 

“April  21,  1876.  Arrived  at  ten  a.  m.,  and  had  a pleasant  day 
watching  him  paint.  I also  saw  the  interior  of  his  atelier,  and  the 
things  in  progress.  He  only  paints  in  the  immediate  neighbor- 
hood. Always  from  nature.  When  we  had  finished  dejeuner  we 
went  together  to  a little  e'tang  in  the  wood,  near  to  which  were  some 
old  cottages.  He  painted  that  bit  on  a small  panel.  After  com- 
pleting his  sitting  he  showed  me  part  of  the  road  to  Cercy-la-Tour, 
and  a gentleman  with  him  showed  me  the  rest. 

“Had  a deal  of  art  talk  with  Hanoteau,  also  with  a young  sculp- 
tor called  Gautherin.” 

This  young  sculptor  was  poor,  but  energetic  and  courageous; 
he  rapidly  made  his  way  to  fame,  but  unfortunately  died  too 
soon  to  reap  the  benefit  of  his  remarkable  talent. 

The  idea  of  an  abridged  “ Wenderholme  ” had  been  accepted 
by  the  author,  who  had  written  to  Messrs.  Blackwood  about  it, 
and  who  received  the  satisfactory  answer  that,  “ though  they 
had  sustained  a loss  with  the  first  publication,  they  thought 
that  the  reputation  and  popularity  of  the  writer  having  con- 
siderably increased,  1 Wenderholme  ’ would  sell  well  in  their 
‘Library  Series  of  Novels.’”  In  consequence  the  revision 
was  begun  at  once,  for  Roberts  Brothers  had  also  written, 
“ Whenever  you  feel  inclined  to  take  up  ‘ Wenderholme,’  we 
shall  be  glad  to  comply  with  your  demand.”  And  there 
followed  a new  proposition  in  the  same  letter:  — 


MEMOIR. 


395 


“ Since  writing  you  about  a new  novel,  we  have  had  an  inspira- 
tion, and  have  already  acted  upon  it  — a series  of  novelettes,  to  be 
published  anonymously,  the  secret  of  authorship,  for  a period,  to 
rest  entirely  with  the  author  and  publisher.  We  shall  call  it  the 
‘No  Name  Series,’  and  issue  it  in  neat,  square  18mo  volumes  of 
about  250  pages,  to  sell  for  one  dollar. 

“ Those  to  whom  we  have  suggested  the  idea  are  mightily 
pleased,  and  we  are  even  tickled  with  the  great  fun  we  expect  to 
have  — something  like  a new  experience  of  the  ‘ Great  Unknown  ’ 
days  of  Sir  Walter  Scott.  We  have  several  promises  from  well- 
known  authors,  and  we  all  agree  that  you  must  write  one  of  them. 
Take  your  own  time  to  do  so,  and  when  you  send  us  the  ‘ copy  ’ 
we  will  advance  £50  towards  the  copyright.  People  say  it  will  be 
impossible  to  keep  the  secret,  for  an  author’s  style  cannot  be  hid- 
den ; but  though  it  may  be  easy  enough  to  say,  ‘ Oh ! this  is 
Hamerton ; anybody  can  tell  his  style,’  if  it  is  not  admitted , there 
will  be  uncertainty  enough  to  make  it  exciting,  and  create  a de- 
mand — we  hope  a large  one.” 

Although  my  husband  had  not  been  so  well  in  the  spring 
(it  was  the  worst  time  of  the  year  for  him),  he  decided  to 
start  for  England  early  in  June  to  see  the  Paris  Salon  and 
the  English  Academy.  He  did  not  ask  me  to  go  with  him, 
for  our  daughter  had  had  quite  recently  a bad  attack  of  bron- 
chitis — at  one  time  we  had  even  feared  inflammation  of  the 
lungs  — and  the  greatest  care  against  the  possibility  of  colds 
had  been  recommended.  However,  he  thought  he  would  be 
equal  to  the  journey,  and  gave  me  a promise  to  stop  whenever 
he  felt  unwell.  He  reached  Paris  all  right,  did  his  work 
there,  and  had  a kind  letter  from  Mr.  Seeley,  who  said:  — 

“ I was  greatly  pleased  to  receive  your  card  this  morning,  and 
learn  that  you  had  had  a successful  journey.  Now  you  will 
certainly  come  and  see  me,  won’t  you?  Brunet-Debaines  is  here, 
and  will  remain  till  the  end  of  next  week.  If  you  are  with  us 
then,  we  will  get  him  to  Kingston,  and  have  a day  on  the  Thames 
together,  and  all  of  us  shall  make  sketches.” 

It  was  very  tempting.  But  the  next  news  was  not  so  good, 
and  Mr.  Seeley  wrote  again : — 


396 


MEMOIR. 


“ If  you  have  lost  your  appetite  in  a big  town  the  remedy  is 
plain.  Come  to  Kingston  at  once.  You  will  not  be  much 
troubled  with  noise  there,  and  you  can  paddle  about  on  the  river 
and  get  hungry,  or  go  flying  madly  about  on  a bicycle,  if  you  have 
kept  up  the  practice.  There  is  a big  bedroom  empty,  and  waiting 
for  you.” 

The  journey  was  resumed  as  far  as  Amiens,  but  the  enemy 
proved  too  strong  to  be  overcome  by  courage  and  resolution, 
and  after  resting  two  days  my  husband  came  back  home  by 
easy  stages,  having  only  told  me  the  truth  after  leaving 
Amiens,  to  prevent  my  going  to  him  at  any  cost.  He  reached 
La  Tuilerie  on  the  first  of  July,  and  I see  in  the  diary: 
“Rested  at  home.  Very  glad  to  be  there.”  The  attempt 
was  not  attended  by  any  lasting  bad  effects;  he  immediately 
regained  his  appetite  and  usual  health;  but  his  Aunt  Susan 
was  sorely  disappointed.  He  tried  to  soothe  her  by  explain- 
ing what  he  believed  to  be  the  combined  causes  of  his  break- 
down: first  the  intense  heat,  which  had  made  his  stay  in 
Paris  very  trying;  the  fatigue  he  had  undergone  there;  and 
lastly  the  weakness  supervening  after  the  loss  of  appetite,  also 
due  to  the  abnormal  heat,  which  was  causing  several  sun- 
strokes every  day,  even  in  England.  He  announced  his 
intention  of  making  another  attempt  with  me  in  the  autumn, 
when  the  chances  would  be  more  in  his  favor. 

Since  the  beginning  of  the  year  the  study  of  painting  had 
become  predominant,  and  had  necessitated  rather  a heavy  out- 
lay, because  Gilbert’s  schemes  were  always  so  elaborate  and 
complex  — drawing-boards  of  different  sizes,  every  one  of  them 
with  a tin  cover  painted  and  varnished;  some  for  water-colors, 
others  for  charcoals;  canvases  for  oils  and  monochromes, 
wooden  and  porcelain  palettes,  pastilles,  tubes,  portable  easels, 
sunshades,  knapsacks,  stools,  brushes,  block-books,  papers  for 
water-colors  and  chalk  studies,  tinted  and  white,  numberless 
portfolios  to  class  the  studies,  and  — a gig,  to  carry  the  para- 
phernalia to  greater  distances  and  in  less  time  than  the  four- 
wheeled  carriage  required.  I was  against  the  gig,  but  the 
boys  were  of  course  delighted,  and  declared  with  their  father 
that  it  had  become  “ absolutely  necessary.” 


MEMOIR. 


397 


I see  in  the  diary:  “July  30,  1876.  In  the  evening  went 
to  Autun  on  Cocote;  enjoyed  the  ride  considerably.  Brought 
back  the  gig.  Wife  sulky.”  The  expenses  of  the  year  had 
been  very  heavy,  owing  to  several  causes;  first  some  house 
repairs  had  become  inevitable,  and  the  landlord  offering  us 
only  the  option  of  doing  them  at  our  own  cost  or  leaving  the 
house,  we  had  to  order  them.  The  roofs  were  in  such  a state 
that  in  stormy  weather  we  had  our  ceilings  and  wall-papers 
drenched  with  rain-water,  and  indeed  it  had  even  begun  to 
make  its  way  through  the  ceilings  into  the  inhabited  rooms. 
The  diary  for  March  12,  1876,  says:  “A  very  stormy  day, 
the  wildest  of  the  whole  year.  We  arranged  the  tents 
(Stephen  and  I)  in  the  attic,  to  prevent  the  rain  from  com- 
ing into  our  bedroom.”  Then  there  had  been  boats  made  for 
the  boys  (cheap  boats,  it  is  true,  made  by  common  joiners). 
They  were  well  deserved,  I acknowledge;  the  boys  had  had 
each  an  accessit  at  the  “ Concours  Academique,”  and  both 
were  mentioned  with  praise  by  the  Sous-Prefet  at  the  public 
distribution  of  prizes.  Besides,  what  was  still  more  impor- 
tant, Stephen  had  successfully  passed  his  examination  for  the 
* Baccalaureat.  ” Lastly,  there  had  been  an  expensive  and 
unproductive  journey,  and  there  was  the  prospect  of  another. 
All  this  in  the  same  year  somewhat  alarmed  me.  The  gig 
was  not  an  important  concern,  being  made,  like  the  four- 
wheeled  carriage,  from  designs  of  my  husband’s,  by  ordinary 
wheelwrights  and  blacksmiths ; but  though  admitting  its  use- 
fulness, and  even  desirableness,  I thought  we  might  have 
done  without  it. 

In  the  beginning  of  August  my  husband  told  me  the  plan 
of  “ Marmorne  ” (for  the  “ No  Name  Series”),  and  I had  been 
afraid  that  it  would  be  too  melodramatic;  however,  I was 
charmed  when  he  read  me  the  beginning,  and  my  fears  were 
soon  dispelled  by  the  strength  and  simplicity  of  the  narrative. 

On  October  4 we  started  for  England,  leaving  my  mother 
in  charge  of  the  house  and  children ; we  stopped  at  Fontaine- 
bleau in  the  morning,  and  after  dejeuner  visited  the  forest 
pretty  thoroughly  in  a carriage.  After  dinner  we  went  on  to 
Paris,  where  we  stayed  only  four  days  for  fear  of  its  effects. 


398 


MEMOIR. 


and  proceeded  to  Calais  by  a night-train.  Luckily  for  Gilbert, 
he  could  sleep  very  well  in  a railway  carriage,  and  sea-sickness 
was  unknown  to  him.  We  crossed  in  the  “ Castalia,”  in  very 
rough  weather  indeed,  the  waves  jumping  over  the  deck,  and 
covering  everything  there  with  foam ; at  one  time  there  came 
a huge  one  dashing  just  against  my  husband’s  block  as  he  was 
sketching,  and  drenched  him  from  head  to  foot.  However, 
he  took  a warm  bath  at  Dover,  changed  his  clothes,  and  felt 
only  the  better  for  the  passage. 

Mr.  Seeley’s  house  was  reached  at  midnight,  and  very 
happy  was  Mr.  Hamerton  to  meet  his  friend  again,  and  to 
be  once  more  in  England  after  an  enforced  absence  of  seven 
years.  On  the  morrow  our  kind  host  and  hostess  took  us  to 
Hampton  Court  Palace,  thence  to  Richmond  Park  by  Twicken- 
ham, and  altogether  made  us  pass  a most  pleasant  day.  The 
following  day  was  reserved  for  the  National  Gallery,  and  I 
find  this  note  in  the  diary : “ I was  delighted  to  see  the 
Turner  collection  again,  and  greatly  struck  by  the  luminous 
quality  of  the  late  works.  This  could  not  possibly  have  been 
got  without  the  white  grounds.  ” 

On  the  Sunday  we  went  to  Balham  to  dine  early  with  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Macmillan,  and  met  Mr.  Ralston  and  Mr.  Green, 
the  historian.  It  was  noted  as  a very  interesting  day  by  my 
husband. 

On  the  sixth  day  we  took  leave  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Seeley, 
and  took  a night-train  for  Peterborough,  where  we  visited  the 
cathedral  and  town  to  await  the  dusk ; then  on  to  Doncaster 
and  Knottingly.  From  Knottingly  we  did  not  see  clearly 
how  to  reach  Featherstone,  and  were  greatly  embarrassed, 
when  a coachman,  who  had  just  driven  his  master  to  the 
station,  foresaw  the  possibility  of  a handsome  tip,  and  offered 
to  take  us  — without  luggage  — in  his  trap.  It  was  pitch 
dark,  he  had  no  lamps,  the  road  was  all  ruts,  and  the  horse 
flew  along  like  mad.  We  only  held  to  our  seats  — or  rather 
kept  resuming  them,  in  a succession  of  bumps,  now  on  one 
side,  now  on  the  other,  and  up  in  the  air  — by  grasping  the 
sides  of  the  trap  with  all  our  might,  till  a sudden  stop  nearly 
threw  us  all  out;  at  any  rate  it  did  throw  us  in  a heap  over 


MEMOIR. 


399 


each  other  at  the  bottom  of  the  trap  — unhurt.  It  was  with 
a sense  of  immense  relief  that  we  plodded  the  rest  of  our 
way  to  the  vicarage,  where  we  arrived  at  eleven.  The  diary 
says:  “October  IT,  1876.  Saw  my  Aunt  Susan  again  for 
the  first  time  since  1869,  at  which  time  I hardly  hoped  ever 
to  see  her  again.  ” 

It  was  a great  comfort  to  Gilbert  to  witness  the  affectionate 
care  taken  of  his  aunt  by  her  niece,  Annie  Hinde,  and  her 
brother  Ben,  with  whom  she  lived.  He  had  always  enter- 
tained a great  liking  for  these  cousins,  but  it  was  increased 
during  his  stay  at  the  vicarage  by  their  hospitable  and  friendly 
ways,  and  by  his  gratitude  for  their  having  given  to  his  dear 
relative  as  much  of  peaceful  satisfaction  as  it  was  in  their 
power  to  do.  Miss  Susan  Hamerton  was  aged,  no  doubt,  but 
she  was  still  able  to  do  everything  for  herself,  and  to  occupy 
her  time  usefully  in  housekeeping,  sewing,  reading,  writ- 
ing, and  going  out.  She  still  retained  her  strong  will,  and 
manifested  it  in  a way  which  nearly  destroyed  all  the  pleasure 
of  the  meeting  with  her  nephew  — and  would  have  done  so, 
had  he  not  yielded  to  it  by  consenting  to  a transfer  of  bank- 
shares  (in  his  favor)  which  involved  great  liabilities.  She 
would  not  listen  to  an  explanation  of  the  risk,  and  considered 
it  ungracious  to  look  the  gift-horse  in  the  mouth.  “ It  had 
been  a capital  investment,”  she  said,  and  she  remained  abso- 
lutely opposed  to  the  sale  of  the  shares.  Her  nephew  had  to 
accept  the  gift  as  it  was  — so  that  instead  of  relieving  anxiety 
it  created  a new  one.  However,  having  come  to  give  her  a 
little  of  the  sunshine  of  happiness,  he  decided  not  to  let  it 
be  clouded  over.  We  stayed  a month  in  happy  and  cordial 
intercourse,  my  husband  spending  the  intervals  of  work  in 
long  talks  and  walks  with  his  aunt,  and  when  the  time  for 
our  departure  arrived,  the  sadness  of  parting  was  soothed  by 
the  hope  of  meeting  again,  now  that  Gilbert  seemed  to  have 
recovered  the  power  of  travelling. 

On  our  return  to  London  we  lunched  with  Mr.  Seymour 
Haden,  who  took  my  husband  to  the  room  in  which  he  kept 
his  collections,  where  they  had  a long  talk  on  art  matters,  and 
where  he  gave  him  a proof  of  the  “ Agamemnon,”  whilst  I 


400 


MEMOIR. 


was  having  a chat  over  family  interests,  children,  and  music 
with  Mrs.  Haden. 

In  the  afternoon  we  called  upon  George  Eliot  and  Mr. 
Lewes,  who  were  very  friendly  indeed.  I was  greatly  struck 
by  George  Eliot’s  memory,  for  she  remembered  everything  I 
had  told  her  — seven  years  ago  — about  our  rustic  life,  and 
her  first  question  was,  “Are  your  children  well,  and  do  you 
still  drive  them  to  college  in  a donkey-chaise?”  She  was 
gravely  sympathetic  in  alluding  to  the  cause  of  our  long 
absence  from  London,  and  when  I said  how  great  was  my 
husband’s  satisfaction  in  being  there  again,  she  seized  both  of 
my  hands  softly  in  hers,  and  asked  in  the  low  modulations  of 
her  rich  voice,  “Is  there  no  gap?  ”...  “Thank  God!  ” I 
answered,  “ there  is  none.”  Then  she  let  go  my  hands,  and 
smiling  as  if  relieved  she  said,  “ Let  us  talk  over  the  past 
years  since  you  came ; ” and  then  she  told  me  of  the  growing 
interest  manifested  by  the  “ thinking  world  ” in  the  works 
of  my  husband.  “ We  are  all  marvelling  at  the  maturity  of 
talent  in  one  so  young  still,  and  look  forward  hopefully  for 
what  he  may  achieve.” 

The  day  after  we  saw  Mr.  Calderon  in  his  studio,  paint- 
ing two  beautiful  decorative  pictures;  there  was  a garland  of 
flowers  in  one  of  them  — the  freshness  of  their  coloring  was 
admirable.  We  missed  Mr.  Woolner,  who  was  out,  and 
thence  went  to  Mr.  Macmillan’s  place  of  business,  and  with 
him  to  Knapdale,  where  we  dined  and  stayed  all  night. 

As  soon  as  dessert  had  been  put  on  the  table,  Mrs.  Mac- 
millan begged  to  be  excused  for  a short  time,  as  she  wished 
to  see  that  Mr.  Freeman  (who  was  on  a visit,  but  not  well 
enough  to  come  down)  had  been  made  comfortable.  On  hear- 
ing of  Mr.  Freeman’s  presence  at  Knapdale,  my  husband 
expressed  his  regrets  at  not  being  able  to  see  him,  and  these 
regrets  were  kindly  conveyed  to  the  invalid  by  Mrs.  Mac- 
millan, who  brought  back  his  request  to  Mr.  Hamerton  for  a 
visit  in  his  bedroom. 

I heard  with  satisfaction  that  Mr.  Freeman  had  been  very 
cordial,  and  had  shown  no  trace  of  resentment  at  what  had 
passed  at  a former  meeting  at  Mr.  Macmillan’s  house.  The 


MEMOIR. 


401 


conversation  had  then  turned  on  Ireland,  and  Mr.  Macmillan 
was,  like  my  husband,  for  granting  autonomy.  This  set 
Mr.  Freeman  growling  at  the  use  of  a Greek  word,  and  he 
exclaimed,  “ Why  can’t  you  speak  English  and  say  Home 
Rule,  instead  of  using  Greek,  which  you  don’t  know!  ” My 
husband  flushed  with  anger,  and  recalled  the  irritable  histo- 
rian — not  without  severity  — to  a proper  sense  of  the  respect 
due  to  their  host,  at  the  same  time  paying  a tribute  to  Mr. 
Macmillan’s  remarkable  abilities.  Later  in  the  evening  the 
word  “ gout  ” was  mentioned.  “ There  again,”  Mr.  Freeman 
exclaimed,  “why  can’t  we  call  it  toe-woe!  ” But  this  was 
said  in  a joke,  and  accompanied  with  a laugh. 

Wherever  we  went,  we  heard  praises  of  the  “ Portfolio.  ” 
Throughout  his  life  Mr.  Hamerton  remained,  not  only  on 
good  terms,  but  on  friendly  terms  with  every  one  of  his  pub- 
lishers; and  whenever  he  went  to  London  he  looked  forward 
with  great  pleasure  to  meeting  them  in  succession.  There 
were,  of  course,  different  degrees  of  intimacy,  but  the  inter- 
course was  never  other  than  agreeable. 

For  many  years  he  had  wished  to  know  Mr.  Samuel  Palmer 
personally,  and  the  wish  was  reciprocated.  Now  an  oppor- 
tunity presented  itself,  and  one  afternoon  saw  us  climbing 
Redhill  in  pleasant  anticipation;  but  when  after  admiring 
the  view  we  rang  the  bell  of  the  artist’s  secluded  abode,  we 
were  told  that  Mr.  Palmer  had  been  very  ill  lately,  was  still 
keeping  his  bed,  and  could  see  no  one.  It  was  a great  disap- 
pointment, and  some  words  to  this  effect  were  written  on  a 
card  and  sent  up  to  the  invalid.  Soon  after  Mrs.  Palmer 
came  down  and  feelingly  expressed  her  husband’s  sincere 
regrets ; she  told  us  of  his  illness,  which  had  left  him  very 
weak  and  liable  to  relapses,  and  of  the  pleasure  he  would 
have  derived  from  a long  talk  with  Mr.  Hamerton  on  artistic 
topics.  We  had  been  shown  into  the  dining-room,  which 
evidently,  for  the  present,  was  not  used,  though  it  was  warmed 
by  a good  fire,  but  darkened  by  the  blinds  being  down  and 
the  curtains  drawn.  The  rays  of  a golden  sunset  diffused 
through  the  apertures  a strange  and  mysterious  glow,  which 
suddenly  seemed  to  surround  and  envelope  an  apparition, 

26 


402 


MEMOIR. 


standing  half  visible  on  the  threshold  of  the  noiselessly 
opened  door.  A remarkably  expressive  head  emerged  from 
a bundle  of  shawls,  which  moved  forward  with  feeble  and 
tottering  steps  — it  was  Mr.  Palmer.  His  wife  could  not 
trust  her  eyes,  but  as  soon  as  she  became  convinced  of  the 
reality  of  his  presence,  she  hastened  to  make  him  comfortable 
in  an  arm-chair  by  the  fire,  and  to  arrange  the  shawls  over 
his  head  and  knees  with  the  most  touching  solicitude.  “ I 
could  not  resist  it,”  he  pleaded;  “I  have  looked  forward  to 
this  meeting  with  so  much  longing.”  His  eyes  sparkled,  his 
countenance  became  animated,  and  regardless  of  his  wraps,  he 
accompanied  his  fluent  talk  with  eloquent  gestures  — to  the 
despair  of  his  wife,  who  had  enough  to  do  in  replacing  cap 
and  rugs.  He  put  all  his  soul  and  energy  (and  now  there 
was  no  lack  of  it)  into  his  speech.  The  art-talk  kindled  all 
the  fire  of  enthusiasm  within  him,  and  he  told  us  anecdotes 
of  Turner  and  Blake,  and  held  us  for  a long  time  fascinated 
with  the  charm  of  his  conversation.  He  could  listen  too,  and 
with  so  vivid  an  interest  and  sympathy  that  his  mere  looks 
were  an  encouragement.  My  husband  was  afraid  of  detaining 
him,  but  he  declared  he  felt  quite  well  and  strong  — “ the 
visiting  angels  had  put  to  flight  the  lurking  enemy;”  he  had 
even  an  appetite,  which  he  would  satisfy  in  our  company. 
Nothing  loath,  we  sat  down  to  an  excellent  tea  with  delicious 
butter  and  new-laid  eggs,  with  the  impression  of  sharing  the 
life  of  elves,  and  of  being  entertained  by  a genie  at  the  head 
of  the  table  and  served  by  a kind  fairy.  This  feeling  origi- 
nated no  doubt  in  the  small  stature  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Palmer; 
in  the  strange  effect  of  light  under  which  our  host  first 
appeared  to  us,  and  lastly  in  the  noiseless  promptitude  with 
which  the  repast  was  spread  on  the  table,  whilst  the  darkness 
of  the  room  gave  way  to  brightness,  just  as  happens  in  fairy- 
tales. 

It  is  curious  that  my  husband  and  myself  should  have 
received  exactly  the  same  impression,  and  a lasting  one. 

The  journey  to  Paris  was  resumed  by  slow  night-trains 
without  disturbance  to  his  health,  and  the  day  after  his 
arrival  he  had  a long  talk  about  etching  with  M.  Leopold 


MEMOIR. 


403 


Flameng,  who  encouraged  my  husband’s  attempts,  and  even 
offered  to  correct  his  defective  plates  rather  than  see  them 
destroyed;  but  this  was  declined,  though  the  valuable  advice 
was  gratefully  accepted.  M.  Flameng  looked  very  happy ; he 
was  in  full  success,  very  industrious,  and  fond  of  his  art; 
married  to  a devoted  wife  of  simple  tastes,  and  already  able 
to  discern  and  foster  in  his  son  the  artistic  tendencies  which 
have  made  him  celebrated  since.  They  were  a very  cheerful 
and  united  family.  Two  days  after  we  had  dejeuner  with  M. 
Rajon.  Of  all  the  French  etchers  who,  from  time  to  time, 
went  to  London  for  the  “Portfolio,”  I believe  M.  Rajon  was 
the  one  best  known  in  English  society,  where  his  liveliness 
and  amiability,  as  well  as  his  great  talent,  found  appreciators. 

Like  almost  every  other  artist,  he  did  not  attach  so  much 
importance  to  what  he  could  do  well,  as  to  what  he  could 
never  master.  His  ambition  was  to  become  a celebrated 
painter,  but  his  pictures  gave  little  hope  of  it;  they  were 
heavy  and  dull  in  color,  and  entirely  devoid  of  the  charm  he 
lent  to  his  etchings.  He  showed  himself  very  grateful  for 
what  Mr.  Hamerton  had  done  for  his  reputation.  Acciden- 
tally, as  he  was  admiring  the  design  of  some  very  simple  ear- 
rings I wore,  I said  that  I did  not  care  so  much  for  jewels  as 
for  lace,  on  which  he  answered  he  was  extremely  fond  of 
both  — on  women  — and  invited  me  to  go  and. see  a collection 
of  old  laces  he  was  forming.  I was  obliged  to  decline,  for 
our  time  was  running  short;  but  he  made  us  promise  to  pay  a 
long  visit  to  his  studio  during  our  next  sojourn  in  Paris. 

We  reached  home  safely,  and  found  my  mother  and  the 
children  all  well. 

There  had  been  a great  step  made  in  the  possibility  of 
travelling  this  year,  though  it  had  been  attended  by  many 
returns  of  anxiety  and  nervousness;  still,  it  was  a not  incon- 
siderable gain  to  know  that  in  case  a journey  became  abso- 
lutely necessary  it  might  be  achieved,  and  our  stay  in  London 
and  Paris  had  been  of  importance  in  allowing  my  husband  to 
study  seriously  in  the  public  galleries. 

Mr.  Powers  had  been  delighted  to  receive  his  long-delayed 
pictures,  and  wrote  his  thanks  in  terms  of  enthusiasm;  he 


404 


MEMOIR. 


said  that  many  people  had  been  admiring  them,  and  that 
a well-known  painter  had  exclaimed,  “Now  I swear  by 
Hamerton.”  About  the  growing  popularity  he  wrote:  “As 
I said  before,  you  win  the  hearts  of  men,  and  your  name  is 
now  a household  word  in  many  quarters  of  this  country.”  It 
was  exactly,  in  almost  identical  words,  what  Roberts  Brothers 
had  already  written.  And  this  was  true  not  only  in  America, 
for  many  English  letters  echoed  it. 

“ Round  my  House  ” was  very  well  received.  There  was 
an  important  and  favorable  review  in  the  “ Times,”  and  one 
in  the  “ Debats  ” by  Taine. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  year  Gilbert  had  undertaken  the 
painting  and  decoration  of  the  staircase  and  lobby,  which 
occasioned  a great  amount  of  labor  and  fatigue,  and  interfered 
with  his  other  work.  He  gave  it  up  at  my  entreaty,  and 
only  directed  the  painter,  being  thus  enabled  to  devote  more 
time  to  the  articles  on  “ Drawing  ” in  preparation  for  Messrs. 
Black’s  new  edition  of  the  “ Encyclopaedia  Britannica,”  which 
were  finished  in  February. 

Soon  after  he  told  me  of  a plan  for  a new  book,  the  title 
of  which  he  meant  to  be  “ Human  Intercourse,”  and  which 
would  require  a large  number  of  memoranda.  We  all  liked 
the  idea  in  the  family  circle  when  it  was  explained,  and  he 
began  immediately  to  gather  materials.  At  the  same  time 
he  continued  his  readings  for  the  biographies  of  remarkable 
Frenchmen,  and  he  contemplated  the  task  with  deep  interest 
and  earnestness.  The  year  1877,  which  had  begun  so  auspi- 
ciously, had  in  store  for  my  husband  one  of  the  lasting  sor- 
rows of  his  life.  On  the  morning  of  March  11  he  received  a 
telegram  announcing  the  death  of  his  beloved  sister-in-law, 
Caroline  Pelletier,  who  had  died  at  Algiers  of  meningitis, 
leaving  three  young  children  to  the  care  of  their  desolate 
father.  It  was  a heavy  blow,  an  irreparable  loss.  She  had 
been  like  both  a daughter  and  sister,  and  her  affection  had 
always  been  very  sweet  to  him.  The  shock  was  so  great 
that  his  health  suffered  in  consequence,  and  the  nervousness 
reappeared.  It  was  of  Caroline  he  was  thinking  when  he 
wrote  in  “ Human  Intercourse  ” this  passage  about  a wife’s 


MEMOIR. 


405 


relatives:  ‘ They  may  even  in  course  of  time  win  such  a 
place  in  one's  affection  that  if  they  are  taken  away  by  Death 
they  will  leave  a great  void  and  an  enduring  sorrow.  I write 
these  lines  from  a sweet  and  sad  experience.  Only  a poet  can 
write  of  these  sorrows.  In  prose  one  cannot  sing, — 

“ ‘ A dirge  for  her  the  doubly  dead,  in  that  she  died  so  young.’  ” 

M.  Pelletier  still  continued  with  his  children  to  spend  the 
vacations  at  La  Tuilerie,  but  the  joyfulness  of  these  holidays 
was  now  replaced  by  sorrow  and  regrets;  the  evenings  were 
particularly  trying,  for  of  late  years  they  had  been  very 
merry.  Our  children  having  taken  a great  fancy  to  acting 
charades,  we  all  took  part  in  them  by  turns.  Their  Aunt 
Caroline  and  their  father  were  the  stars  of  the  company,  and 
to  this  day  they  recollect  her  irresistible  sprightliness  as  a 
coquettish  French  kitchen-maid  attempting  the  conquest  of 
their  father,  in  the  character  of  the  typical  Englishman  of 
French  caricatures.  She  smiled,  curtsied,  and  whirled  about 
him,  handling  her  brass  pans  so  daintily,  tossing  them  so 
dexterously,  that  the  bewildered  and  dazzled  islander  could 
not  resist  the  enchantress,  and  joined  enthusiastically  in  the 
chorus  of  the  song  she  had  improvised,  — 

“ La  femme  que  l’on  prefere 
C’est  toujours  la  cuisiniere,” 

while  she  played  the  accompaniment  with  a wooden  spoon 
upon  the  lids  of  the  pans. 

Her  brother-in-law  achieved  unqualified  success  in  the  part 
of  the  Englishman.  He  had  kept  on  purpose  an  immense 
chimney-pot  hat  and  a tartan  plaid  which  he  used  to  perfec- 
tion, and  his  “Oh's!  ” and  “Ah's!  ” were  of  such  ludicrous 
prolongation,  and  his  gait  so  stiff,  and  his  comical  blunders 
delivered  with  so  much  of  haughty  assurance , that  he  “ brought 
down  the  house.” 

It  was  seldom  that  my  husband  consented  to  take  an  active 
part  in  games:  he  generally  preferred  being  a spectator;  but 
whether  acting  or  listening,  charades  were  one  of  the  few 


406 


MEMOIR. 


pastimes  for  which  he  had  a taste, — it  seems  the  more  strange 
since  he  did  not  care  for  the  theatre,  though  he  liked  plays  to 
he  read  to  him.  I suppose  that  the  feeling  of  being  penned 
in  a crowded  place  was  insupportable  to  him. 

After  the  death  of  my  sister,  some  years  had  to  elapse 
before  we  could  hear  to  see  charades  again. 

On  May  25  my  husband  had  the  pleasure  of  bringing 
home  from  the  railway  station  Mr.  Appleton,  editor  of  the 
“ Academy,  ” for  whom  he  had  a great  regard.  His  notes 
say:  — 


“We  passed  a very  pleasant  evening,  and  did  not  go  to  bed  till 
after  twelve. 

“ 26th.  Walked  with  Mr.  Appleton  to  Pre-Charmoy  in  the  morn- 
ing. In  the  afternoon  took  him  to  Autun  and  showed  him  the 
Roman  arches,  the  Gothic  walls,  the  cathedral,  the  Chemin  des 
Tours,  etc.,  etc.  A very  pleasant  day.  We  got  home  in  time  for 
dinner,  found  the  boys  at  home,  and  talked  till  one  in  the  morning. 

“ 27th.  Took  Mr.  Appleton  to  the  railway  in  the  morning,  with 
regrets,  and  a certain  sadness  on  account  of  his  health.” 

Mr.  Appleton  was  on  his  way  to  Egypt  by  his  doctor’s 
advice.  He  was  singularly  amiable  and  sympathetic.  He 
thought,  and  said  simply,  that  very  likely  he  had  not  long  to 
live,  and  dared  not  marry  on  that  account,  though  he  often 
felt  solitary.  He  suffered  from  asthma,  and  could  only  sleep 
with  the  windows  of  his  bedroom  wide  open,  and  a bright 
wood  fire  burning  in  the  chimney. 

He  had  promised  to  pay  us  another  visit  if  he  were  spared, 
but  alas ! we  never  saw  him  again. 

As  the  biographies  advanced,  the  author  grew  uncertain 
about  the  title  he  would  give  them.  It  could  not  be  “ Cele- 
brated Frenchmen,”  because  some  of  them  would  not  exactly 
answer  to  the  qualification.  He  had  thought  of  “ Earnest 
Frenchmen,”  but  Mr.  Seeley  objected,  and  said,  “ The  word 
‘earnest’  has  got  spoilt.  It  was  used  over  and  over  again  till 
it  got  to  sound  like  cant,  and  then  people  began  to  laugh  at 
it.  How  would  ‘ Modern  Frenchmen  ’ do  ? ” It  was  deemed 
a perfectly  suitable  title,  and  given  to  the  book. 


MEMOIR. 


407 


At  the  end  of  the  summer  Mr.  Seeley  and  his  wife  paid  us 
a flying  visit  on  their  way  back  from  Switzerland.  It  was  a 
great  pleasure  to  see  them  again. 

Shortly  after  them  M.  Brunet-Debaines  came,  and  I could 
not  help  directing  my  husband’s  attention  to  the  simplicity 
of  his  arrangements  for  working  from  nature;  a small  stool, 
upon  which  was  fixed  a canvas  or  a drawing-board,  and  a 
color-box,  were  all  he  required;  however,  I was  told  that 
“ wants  varied  with  individuals.  ” 

Hitherto  Mr.  Hamerton’s  plan  about  painting  had  been  to 
begin  several  pictures  at  once,  to  allow  them  to  dry;  but  now 
he  was  sick  of  remaining  so  long  over  the  same  pieces  of 
work,  and  he  decided  to  paint  only  two  pictures  at  a time, 
and  to  use  drying  materials. 

He  had  succeeded  in  mastering  the  technicality  of  charcoal 
drawing,  and  had  made  an  arrangement  with  the  Autotype 
Company  for  the  reproduction  of  some  drawings  in  this 
medium. 


408 


MEMOIR. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

1878-1880. 

“ Marmorne.”  — Paris  International  Exhibition.  — “ Modern  Frenchmen.” 
— Candidature  to  the  Watson  Gordon  Chair  of  Fine  Arts.  — The 
Bishop  of  Autun. — The  “Life  of  Turner.” 

The  important  literary  works  undertaken  by  Mr.  Hamerton 
in  the  year  1878  were  “ Modem  Frenchmen  ” and  a “ Life  of 
Turner.” 

The  artistic  work  remained  unsatisfactory  to  the  severe 
self-criticism  of  the  artist,  who  kept  destroying  picture  after 
picture,  notwithstanding  his  serious  studies  and  experiments 
in  various  modes  and  methods  of  painting.  He  succeeded 
better  with  charcoals  and  monochromes,  and  sent  several 
finished  subjects  to  be  reproduced  by  the  Autotype  Company. 
Mr.  S.  Palmer  wrote  about  it : “ If  I had  twenty  years 
before  me,  I should  like  to  spend  them  on  monochromes  and 
etching.  ” 

In  the  same  letter  he  went  on : — 

“Life  being  spared,  your  ‘ Marmorne,’  the  fame  of  which  had 
already  arrived,  is  the  next  reading  treat  on  my  list.  You  call  it 
your  ‘little  book,’  a recommendation  to  me,  for,  with  few  excep- 
tions, I have  found  small  books  and  small  pictures  the  most  beau- 
tiful, and  I doubt  not  that  you  know  better  than  myself  how 
much  almost  all  three-volume  novels  (including  Scott’s)  would  be 
improved,  as  works  of  art,  by  condensation  into  one. 

“ Both  yourself  and  Mrs.  Hamerton  are  often  mentally  present 
with  us  here  : the  evening  of  our  first,  and,  alas ! only  meeting  is 
among  the  vivid  pleasures  of  memory,  and  a repetition  is  a cher- 
ished pleasure  of  hope.  I will  only  add  that  I fear  you  are  killing 
yourself  with  overwork,  and  that  you  should  put  yourself  under  a 
repressive  domestic  police.” 


MEMOIR. 


409 


Some  time  before,  my  husband  had  received  from  G.  H. 
Lewes  a letter  with  this  address:  “Mr.  Adolphus  Segrave, 
care  of  P.  G.  Hamerton,  Esq.,  Pre-Charmoy,  Autun.” 
George  Eliot  and  Mr.  Lewes  had  been  reading  “Marmorne,” 
and  had  never  entertained  the  slightest  doubt  about  the 
authorship,  though  the  book  was  published  under  the  assumed 
name  of  Adolphus  Segrave.  The  story  had  been  greatly 
appreciated  by  both  of  them,  and  especially  the  style  in 
which  it  was  told.  Such  high  praise  was  in  accordance  with 
what  Mr.  Palmer  had  previously  said  to  Mr.  Seeley;  namely, 
that  “ he  considered  Mr.  Hamerton  as  the  first  prose- writer 
of  his  time.” 

It  may  be  remembered  that  a cousin  of  my  husband’s,  Mr. 
H.  Milne,  had  called  upon  us  at  Innistrynich,  and  had  since 
bought  his  little  property.  He  heard  of  our  last  visit  to 
Yorkshire,  and,  not  aware  of  his  relative’s  trouble  in  regard 
to  railway  travelling,  had  felt  hurt  at  his  apparent  neglect. 
Luckily  my  husband  heard  of  it  through  his  Aunt  Susan, 
and  immediately  wrote  to  explain  matters.  Mr.  H.  Milne, 
who  had  known  all  about  the  pecuniary  situation,  now 
answered : — 

“ I can  assure  you  that  it  is  very  pleasing  to  me  to  know  that  your 
career  has  been  so  successful  as  to  enable  you  to  give  your  sons  an 
education  to  fit  them  to  grapple  with  the  difficulties  people  have 
to  meet  with  nowadays  to  make  them  comfortable,  and  to  do  so 
is  all  the  more  satisfactory  when  accomplished  by  their  own  exer- 
tions. My  mother  [the  lady  who  served  as  model  and  suggestion 
for  Mrs.  Ogden  in  ‘ Marmorne  ’]  still  retains  unimpaired  all  her 
faculties,  and  looks  much  the  same  as  when  you  were  here.  We 
shall  celebrate  her  eighty-sixth  birthday  on  March  15.  She  really 
is  wonderful,  and  a marvel  to  every  one,  and  particularly  so  to  her 
doctor,  who  on  no  occasion  has  ever  prevailed  on  her  to  take  one 
drop  of  medicine,  notwithstanding  he  persists  in  coming  to  see 
her  twice  a week  — for  what  reasons  seems  quite  past  my  mother’s 
comprehension.” 

The  pecuniary  situation  had  certainly  improved,  which  was 
a relief  to  my  husband,  for  his  children  were  growing  up,  and 
losses  due  to  non-remunerative  work  and  ill-health  had  to  be 


410 


MEMOIR. 


gradually  made  good.  There  seemed  to  he  a fate  adverse  to 
his  making  money,  even  by  his  most  successful  works.  Here 
is  “ Marmorne  ” as  an  example,  published  in  America,  in 
England,  in  France,^ both  in  Hachette’s  “ Bibliotheque  des 
meilleurs  Romans  Etrangers,”  and  as  a feuilleton  in  the 
“ Temps,”  also  in  the  Tauchnitz  collection,  unanimously  well 
received  by  the  press;  said  to  be  “ le  roman  de  l’annee  ” by 
the  “Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,”  and  still  bringing  consider- 
ably less  than  £200  to  the  author’s  purse.  It  was  a great 
disappointment  to  the  publishers  also.  Roberts  Brothers 
wrote:  “Of  ‘ Marmorne’  we  have  only  sold  2,000  copies; 
there  ought  to  have  been  10,000  sold;”  and  Mr.  Blackwood 
said : “ The  sales  have  been  rather  disappointing  to  us  after 
the  attention  and  favorable  impression  the  work  attracted;  we 
had  looked  for  a larger  and  more  remunerative  demand.  ” 

The  character  of  the  scenery  in  the  Autunois  pleased  Mr. 
Hamerton  more  and  more,  though  it  lacked  the  grandeur  of 
real  mountains.  He  was  particularly  sensitive  to  the  beauty 
of  its  color,  which  reminded  him  sometimes  of  the  Scotch 
Highlands,  and  was  said  to  be  very  like  that  of  the  Roman 
Campagna  in  summer-time.  Such  notes  as  the  following  are 
frequent  in  his  diary : — 

“January  11, 1878.  Went  to  Fontaine  la  Mhre;  beautiful  drive 
the  whole  way.  Was  delighted  with  the  Titian-like  quality  of  the 
landscape.  Much  of  the  sylvan  scenery  reminded  me  of  Ruysdael. 
Took  five  sketches.” 

Throughout  this  year  my  husband  gave  a great  deal  of  his 
time  to  his  aunt’s  affairs,  which  were  in  a deplorable  state, 
owing  to  the  dishonesty  of  her  lawyers;  accounts  for  several 
years  past  had  to  he  gone  over,  cleared  up,  and  settled,  and  at 
so  great  a distance  the  proceedings  involved  a heavy  corre- 
spondence. However,  the  help  given  was  efficacious,  and 
Miss  Hamerton’s  independence  was  secured  in  the  end.  In 
the  summer  Gilbert  had  to  relinquish  the  river-baths  that 
he  enjoyed  so  much.  In  the  two  preceding  years  he  had 
remarked  that  he  was  often  unwell  and  agitated  after  a swim, 
hut  had  kept  hoping  that  the  effect  might  he  transitory;  it 


MEMOIR. 


411 


was,  however,  now  renewed  with  growing  intensity  every 
time  he  took  a cold  bath,  so  that,  with  much  regret,  he  had 
to  give  them  up.  He  used  to  say  with  a shade  of  melan- 
choly, that  we  must  resign  ourselves  to  the  gradual  depriva- 
tion of  all  the  little  pleasures  of  existence,  — even  of  the  most 
innocent  ones, — but  that  the  hardest  for  him  to  renounce 
would  he  work. 

Having  borne  the  journey  to  England  in  1877  without  had 
results  to  his  health,  he  now  decided  to  attempt  a visit  to 
the  Paris  International  Exhibition.  He  was  very  anxious  to 
ascertain  the  present  state  of  the  fine  arts  all  over  the  globe, 
and  if  possible  to  make  the  best  of  this  opportunity.  On  the 
day  appointed  for  starting,  and  whilst  he  was  packing  up, 
Mr.  Ii.  L.  Stevenson  just  happened  to  call  without  previous 
notice.  What  a bright,  winning  youth  he  was ! what  a 
delightful  talker!  there  was  positively  a sort  of  radiance  about 
him,  as  if  emanating  from  his  genius.  We  had  never  seen 
him  before;  we  only  knew  his  works,  hut  he  seemed  like  a 
friend  immediately.  Listening  to  his  fluent,  felicitous  talk, 
his  clear  and  energetic  elocution,  his  original  ideas  and  veins 
of  thought,  was  a rare  treat,  and  his  keen  enjoyment  of 
recovered  health  and  active  life  was  really  infectious.  He 
could  not  remain  seated,  but  walked  and  smoked  the  whole 
of  the  afternoon  he  remained  with  us.  Knowing  that  he  had 
lately  been  dangerously  ill,  I ventured  to  express  my  fear 
that  the  smoking  of  endless  cigarettes  might  prove  injurious. 
“ Oh,  I don’t  know,”  he  said;,  “ and  yet  I dare  say  it  is;  hut 
you  see,  Mrs.  Hamerton,  as  there  are  only  a very  limited 
number  of  things  enjoyable  to  an  individual  in  this  world, 
these  must  be  enjoyed  to  the  utmost;  and  if  I knew  that 
smoking  would  kill  me,  still  I would  not  give  it  up,  for  I 
shall  surely  die  of  something , very  likely  not  so  pleasant.” 
Although  the  shutters  were  closed  in  all  the  rooms  that  were 
not  to  be  used  in  our  absence,  they  were  opened  again  to  let 
him  see  the  etchings  on  the  walls;  for  he  had  a fine  taste,  not 
only  for  the  beauties  of  nature,  but  also  for  artistic  achieve- 
ments. We  felt  it  most  vexatious  to  be  obliged  to  leave  that 
very  evening,  but  my  husband  managed  to  remain  with  Mr. 


412 


MEMOIR. 


Stevenson  till  the  last  available  minute,  by  asking  me  to  pack 
up  his  things  for  him.  I remember  that  after  reading  the 
“ Inland  Voyage  ” I had  told  my  husband  how  I had  been 
charmed  by  it,  and  had  begged  to  be  given  everything  which 
came  from  the  same  pen;  but  at  that  time  we  were  afraid  that 
such  a delicate  and  refined  talent  would  not  bring  popularity 
to  the  author;  happily  we  were  mistaken,  — perhaps  only  to  a 
certain  extent,  however,  — as  his  most  successful  works  belong 
to  a later  and  quite  different  genre. 

At  the  recommendation  of  M.  Rajon,  we  went  to  a quaint 
little  hotel  in  Paris,  near  La  Muette,  well  known  to  artists 
and  men  of  letters,  and  patronized,  for  its  quietness,  by  some 
of  the  most  famous,  being  usually  let  in  apartments  to  persons 
who  brought  their  own  servants  with  them.  Its  situation, 
close  to  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  made  our  returns  from  the 
exhibition  easy  and  pleasant  — so  easy,  indeed,  that  when  we 
had  to  spend  the  evening  in  Paris,  and  could  find  no  carriage 
to  take  us  there,  we  merely  went  back  to  our  headquarters, 
where  we  had  the  choice  of  railway,  tramways,  and  omnibuses 
for  every  part  of  Paris. 

According  to  our  promise  we  went  to  meet  M.  Rajon  at  his 
studio,  and  amongst  other  things  saw  a beautiful  portrait  of 
him,  which,  however,  was  so  much  flattered  that  for  some 
time  I hesitated  about  the  likeness.  He  was  represented  on 
horseback,  with  a long  flowing  cloak,  and  a sombrero  casting 
a strong  shadow  over  one  of  his  eyes,  which  was  afflicted  with 
a weakness  of  the  eyelid,  which  kept  dropping  down  so  fre- 
quently that  the  pupil  was  seldom  seen  for  any  time;  the 
horse  was  a thoroughbred;  two  magnificent  greyhounds  (the 
originals  we  could  admire,  at  rest  upon  a raised  platform  of 
carved  oak  and  red  cushions)  ran  alongside  of  him,  and  this 
tail-looking,  dignified,  romantic  rider  was  — little,  spare, 
merry  M.  Rajon.  Gossip  whispered  that  he  had  been  some- 
what intoxicated  by  his  sudden  fame,  and  had  been,  for  a 
while,  desirous  of  showing  off,  so  that  he  had  brought  back 
from  England  the  thoroughbred  and  the  greyhounds  to  be 
noticed  in  the  “ Allee  des  Cavaliers,”  but  that  not  having 
been  accustomed  to  sit  a horse  before,  his  thoroughbred  had 


MEMOIR. 


413 


flung  him  against  a tree  so  severely  that  the  taste  for  equita- 
tion had  gone  out  of  him  for  ever.  Be  this  as  it  may,  M. 
Bajon  was  far  from  being  vainglorious;  he  knew  his  value 
as  an  artist,  frankly  and  openly  enjoyed  his  success,  but 
remained  simple,  urbane,  and  courteous.  He  told  us  that  he 
could  only  give  two  hours  a day  to  original  work,  and  that 
his  mother  (a  simple  woman  for  whom  art  remained  an  incom- 
prehensible mystery)  could  not  admit  this  limitation.  At 
that  time  he  was  spending  money  rather  lavishly  — giving 
fetes  in  his  studio  to  celebrated  actors  and  actresses,  musi- 
cians, singers,  poets,  and  artists,  and  the  expenses  were  some- 
times a cause  of  momentary  embarrassment;  then  his  simple 
mother  would  say:  “Why  need  you  trouble  yourself  about 
it?  You  work  very  little  — then  work  twice  as  much,  which 
won’t  tire  you,  and  you  ’ll  have  twice  as  much  money.”  She 
could  not,  he  said,  be  made  to  understand  that  this  prolonged 
labor  would  be  worthless,  because  the  inspiring  flame  would 
be  burned  out. 

Mr.  Woolner  arrived  in  Paris  a few  days  after  Mr.  Hamer- 
ton,  and  they  spent  a whole  day  together  in  the  sculpture 
galleries  of  the  Louvre.  Mr.  Woolner  remembered  that 
old  Madame  Mohl,  having  read  my  husband’s  works,  had 
expressed  a wish  to  renew  the  acquaintance  of  former  days, 
and  would  be  glad  to  see  us  both  at  tea-time  — any  day  that 
might  suit  us. 

A week  later  we  called  upon  the  wonderfully  preserved  old 
lady,  who  was  delighted  to  receive  a visit  from  a rising  celeb- 
rity — though  a host  of  celebrities  had  passed  through  her 
drawing-room.  She  complained  of  being  delaisee  by  the 
young  generation.  Still,  she  remained  lively  and  gracious; 
her  quick  intelligence  and  ready  memory  were  unimpaired  by 
her  great  age,  and  it  was  with  eagerness  that  she  seized  upon 
another  opportunity  for  narrating  her  treasured-up  stories  of 
renowned  people,  particularly  of  the  two  Amperes,  whom  she 
had  known  intimately.  She  was  still  living  in  the  same 
house  that  they  had  inhabited  together,  when  Mr.  Mohl 
kindly  gave  them  the  benefit  of  his  more  practical  sense  in 
household  management.  Madame  Mohl  was  rather  severe 


414 


MEMOIR. 


about  Jean  Jacques  Ampere,  whom  she  called  a “young  cox- 
comb,” and  “ an  egotist.”  She  was  not  sentimental,  and  had 
no  sympathy  with  or  pity  for  the  love  so  long  faithful  to 
Madame  Recamier;  nay,  I thought  I could  detect  in  her 
strictures  the  unconscious  feminine  jealousy  of  a lady  whose 
salon  had  been  forsaken  by  one  of  its  “ lions  ” for  a more 
attractive  one,  and  who  had  resented  it  bitterly.  But  Andre 
Marie  Ampere  she  praised  unreservedly,  with  the  warmth  of 
most  exalted  admiration. 

It  was  very  funny  to  see  the  little  lady  curled  up  on  a 
couch,  propped  by  cushions,  running  over  her  strings  of  memo- 
ries with  pleased  alacrity,  then  jumping  down  in  her  stock- 
ings to  pour  out  tea  for  her  guests  in  utter  disregard  of  her 
shoes,  which  lay  idly  by  the  sofa,  even  when  we  took  leave 
of  her;  and  as  she  accompanied  us  to  the  door,  the  white 
stockings  conspicuously  displayed  themselves  at  every  step, 
without  the  slightest  attempt  at  concealment.  (At  that  time 
black  stockings  would  have  been  thought  an  abomination.) 

Almost  every  morning  saw  Mr.  Hamerton  in  the  exhibition 
before  the  crowd  of  visitors  arrived,  so  that  he  was  able  to 
study  in  peace  and  profitably.  He  had  had  a card-case,  and 
cards  of  a convenient  size  and  thickness,  made  especially  to 
take  notes  upon,  and  he  devoted  a separate  card  to  every 
picture  worth  studying.  It  was  a very  convenient  plan,  with 
alphabetical  classification  for  references ; every  time  he  went 
he  took  with  him  a fresh  supply,  and  was  not  encumbered 
with  those  he  had  already  filled  up. 

Generally  some  etcher  met  him  by  appointment,  and  to- 
gether they  selected  pictures  to  be  reproduced  for  the  “ Port- 
folio.” His  evenings  were  mostly  taken  up  by  invitations; 
and  it  was  well  for  his  wife  that  she  had  been  mercifully 
exempted  by  nature  from  jealous  tendencies,  for  the  ladies 
paid  the  author  of  “ Marmorne  ” such  a tribute  of  admiration 
that  he  was  sometimes  abashed  by  their  fervor,  yet  never 
intoxicated.  Friends  had  repeatedly  told  him  that  he  could 
win  the  hearts  of  men,  and  if  women  dared  not  say  as  much 
of  themselves,  they  let  him  see  that  he  exercised  a great 
and  healthy  influence  over  them  too;  he  also  enjoyed  their 


MEMOIR. 


415 


society,  and  though  he  did  not  mean  it  to  be  a flattery,  they 
accepted  it  as  such. 

Amongst  artists  and  men  of  letters  he  was  acknowledged  as 
a writer  of  genuine  worth  and  extensive  acquirements.  There 
is  a proof  of  it  in  a letter  addressed  to  him  by  M.  Veron, 
editor  of  “ L’Art,”  on  merely  guessing  that  Mr.  Hamerton 
must  be  the  writer  of  a criticism  of  his  “ Esthetique  ” in  the 
“ Saturday  Eeview.  ” 


“Paris,  11  9 bre,  1878. 

“ Cher  Monsieur,  — On  me  communique  une  revue  tres 
remarquable  de  la  ‘ Saturday  Review  ’ sur  mon  ‘ Esthdtique.’  Ce 
qui  distingue  cet  article  c’est  une  serieuse  connaissance  du  sujet  et 
une  puissance  d’analyse  des  plus  rares.  Cela  ne  ressemble  en  rien 
k ces  g&idralites  vagues  et  flottantes  dont  se  contentent  la  plupart 
des  ^crivains  qui  font  de  la  critique  dans  la  revue  des  journaux. 
Aussi  ai-je  eprouvd  k etre  loud  par  un  pareil  homme  une  jouissance 
infiniment  plus  vive  que  eelle  qu’auraient  pu  me  procurer  des 
dloges  beaucoup  plus  hyperboliques,  mais  moins  compdtents. 

“ Cet  homme,  je  suppose  que  c’est  vous.  Si  je  ne  me  trompe 
pas,  permettez-moi  de  vous  dire  que  je  me  sens  singulierement 
heureux  de  me  rencontrer  en  fait  d’esthdtique  avec  un  dcrivain 
capable  de  raisonner  sur  ces  questions  comme  l’a  fait  l’auteur  de 
Particle  de  la  ‘ Saturday  Review.’  ” 

More  acquaintances  amongst  artists  were  made  during  his 
stay  in  Paris,  including  Bracquemond,  Protais,  Feyen-Perrin, 
Waltner,  Lhermitte,  and  Munkacsy. 

Having  finished  his  work  in  the  exhibition,  my  husband 
went  home  to  write  a notice  of  it  for  the  “International 
Review.”  In  the  course  of  November  his  eldest  son  Stephen 
passed  a successful  examination  for  the  second  part  of  the 
Baccalaureat-es-Lettres,  and  as  the  boy  was  now  to  study 
at  home,  his  father  frequently  employed  him  to  write  letters 
under  his  dictation.  It  was  very  good  practice  for  Stephen, 
and  spared  his  father’s  time  for  painting  and  drawing. 

At  the  beginning  of  1879,  Mr.  R.  L.  Stevenson  had  sent  a 
manuscript  to  Mr.  Hamerton,  with  a request  that  he  would 
read  it,  and  recommend  it  to  a publisher  if  it  were  thought 
worth  the  trouble.  It  was  appreciated,  and  a successful  sale 


416 


MEMOIR. 


expected.  In  the  interest  of  Mr.  Stevenson,  my  husband 
advised  him  to  sacrifice  the  idea  of  immediate  payment,  and 
to  retain  the  copyright,  hoping  that  it  would  prove  more 
advantageous.  However,  the  young  author  preferred  the 
ready  cash,  which  he  may  have  been  in  need  of;  neverthe- 
less acknowledging  afterwards  that  it  would  have  been  prefer- 
able to  have  acted  according  to  the  sound  advice  given  at  the 
time. 

As  our  daughter  was  fast  developing  a talent  for  music, 
her  father  felt  tempted  to  resume  the  practice  of  the  violin 
regularly,  and  they  often  played  duets  and  sonatas  together; 
but  the  difficulty  — nay,  the  impossibility  — of  finding  time 
for  the  prosecution  of  all  the  studies  he  had  undertaken  was  a 
source  of  oft-recurring  discouragement,  because  unavoidably 
he  had  to  replace  one  by  another  now  and  then,  it  being 
impracticable  to  carry  them  on  de  front.  Sometimes  he 
complained,  good-humoredly,  that  I rather  discouraged  than 
encouraged  him  about  music  — which  was  certainly  true,  for 
well  knowing  that  to  become  a violinist  of  any  skill  involves 
years  and  years  of  regular  and  steady  practice,  I was  adverse 
to  this  additional  strain,  leading  to  no  adequate  reward.  I 
well  knew  it  could  not  be  sustained,  and  would  have  to  give 
way  to  pressure  from  other  quarters  — writing,  painting, 
etching,  or  reading.  The  study  of  Italian  had  also  been 
vigorously  resumed,  so  that  in  the  diary  I see  this  note  regu- 
larly : “ Practised  Spohr  and  Kreutzer,  or  Beethoven.  Bead 
Dante.”  I also  find  the  following  in  April:  “Spent  the 
greater  part  of  the  day  in  planning  my  new  novel  with 
Charles  (his  brother-in-law).  Worked  on  plan  of  my  novel, 
and  modified  it  by  talking  it  over  with  my  wife.  ” I did  not 
like  the  plan,  which,  in  my  opinion,  went  too  much  into 
the  technicalities  and  details  of  a young  nobleman’s  educa- 
tion ; I feared  they  might  prove  tedious  to  the  reader ; in 
consequence  there  is  a new  entry  a week  later : “ Improved 
plan  of  novel  with  wife.  Now  reserve  mornings  exclusively 
for  it,  or  it  will  never  be  finished  at  all.  Make  this  a fixed 
rule.” 

At  the  end  of  April  some  monochromes  had  been  sent  for 


MEMOIR. 


417 


reproduction,  but  be  was  greatly  disappointed  with  them,  as 
may  be  seen  by  the  diary : — 

“ May  31.  Had  a great  deal  of  trouble  this  month  about  repro- 
ductions of  drawings  in  autotype.  Dissatisfied  with  the  reproduc- 
tions of  the  oil  monochromes,  which  came  coarse,  with  thousands 
of  false  specks  of  light.  The  surface  of  a drawing  should  be  mate 
for  autotype  reproduction.  This  led  me  to  make  various  experi- 
ments of  various  kinds,  and  the  latest  conclusion  I have  arrived  at 
is  something  like  drawing  on  wood ; that  is,  pencil  or  chalk,  going 
into  detail,  and  sustained  by  washes  of  Indian  ink,  and  relieved  by 
touches  of  Chinese  white.  The  whole  business  hitherto  has  been 
full  of  difficulties  of  various  kinds.” 

“June  11.  The  proofs  of  the  autotypes  on  white  paper  with 
brown  pigment  arrived  to-day.  Determined  to  have  second  nega- 
tives taken  of  all  of  them,  and  to  repaint  them  on  the  positives.” 

To  turn  his  thoughts  away  from  his  repeated  disappoint- 
ments in  artistic  attempts,  and  to  a greater  disappointment  in 
his  novel  — which  he  had  entirely  destroyed  after  bestowing 
upon  it  two  months  of  labor  — Gilbert  began  to  scheme  a 
boat,  a river  yacht.  It  was  the  best  of  diversions  for  him,  as 
he  took  as  much  pleasure  in  the  planning  of  a boat  as  in  the 
use  of  it.  This  new  one  was  to  be  a marvel  of  safety  and 
speed,  but  especially  of  convenience,  for  it  would  be  made  to 
carry  several  passengers  for  a month’s  cruise,  with  means  of 
taking  meals  on  board,  and  of  sleeping  under  a tent.  Of 
course  Mr.  Seeley  had  been  informed  of  the  scheme,  and 
wrote  in  answer:  “Don’t  fail  to  send  me  notice  when 
your  boat  may  be  expected  on  the  Thames,  that  I may 
rouse  the  population  of  Kingston  to  give  you  an  appropriate 
reception.” 

Another  novel  was  begun,  but  it  was  still  to  be  the  story 
of  a young  French  nobleman’s  life,  spent  alternately  in 
France  and  in  England,  and  in  the  manner  of  “ Tom  Jones.” 
Meanwhile  “ Modern  Frenchmen  ” was  selling  pretty  stead- 
ily, but  slowly,  the  public  being  mostly  unacquainted  with 
the  names,  though  Mr.  G.  H.  Lewes,  Professor  Seeley, 
Mr.  Lockhart,  and  many  others,  had  a very  high  opinion 

27 


418 


MEMOIR. 


of  the  work.  Mr.  Lockhart  wrote  about  the  biography  of 
Regnault : — 

“ I have  by  me  at  this  moment  your  life  of  Henri  Regnault.  I 
trust  you  will  not  consider  it  an  impertinence  if  I tell  you  how  it 
has  delighted  me,  both  as  a man  and  a painter.  I have  the  most 
intense  admiration  for  Rdgnault,  and  in  reading  his  biography  it 
has  rejoiced  me  to  find  the  author  in  such  thorough  sympathy  with 
his  subject.  Biographies  of  artists,  as  a rule,  are  the  most  disap- 
pointing of  books  to  artists.  This  is  indeed  an  exception,  and  I 
most  heartily  congratulate  you  on  your  very  subtle  and  delicate 
picture  of  a noble  life. 

“ I was  in  Granada  with  Fortuny  when  the  news  of  Rdgnault’s 
death  came.  I shall  never  forget  the  impression  it  made  on  us  all. 
The  fall  of  Paris,  the  surrender  of  Napoleon,  all  the  misfortunes 
of  France  were  as  nothing  compared  to  this. 

“When  I first  had  the  book  I thought  you  a little  unjust  to 
Fortuny,  and  was  prepared  to  indorse  Rdgnault’s  estimate  of 
him.  Since  then  I have  seen  the  thirty  Fortunys  at  the  Inter- 
national Exhibition,  and  they  have  moderated  my  enthusiasm, 
and  brought  me  back  to  sober  orthodoxy,  to  Velasquez  and 
Rembrandt.” 

Mr.  G.  H.  Lewes  also  wrote : — 

“We  left  London  before  your  book  arrived,  but  I sent  for  it,  and 
Mrs.  Lewes  has  been  reading  it  aloud  to  me  the  last  few  evenings. 
It  has  charmed  us  both,  and  we  regret  that  so  good  a scheme,  so 
well  carried  out,  should  in  the  nature  of  the  case  be  one  doomed 
to  meet  with  small  public  response.  No  reader  worth  having  can 
read  it  without  interest  and  profit,  but  il  s'agit  de  trouverdes  lecteurs. 
My  son  writes  in  great  delight  with  it,  and  I have  recommended  it 
to  the  one  person  we  have  seen  in  our  solitude  ; but  I fear  you  will 
find  the  deaf  adder  of  a public  deafer  than  usual  to  your  charming. 
A volume  of  biographies  of  well-known  Frenchmen  would  have  but 
a slender  chance  of  success  — and  a volume  on  the  unknown  would 
need  to  be  spiced  with  religion  or  politics  — et  fortement  epice  — to 
attract  more  than  a reader  here  and  there. 

“We  are  here  for  five  weeks  in  our  Paradise  without  the  serpent 
(symbol  of  visitors!)  ; but  alas ! without  the  health  which  would 
make  the  long  peace  one  filled  with  work.  As  for  me,  I vegetate 
mostly.  I get  up  at  six  to  stroll  out  for  an  hour  before  breakfast, 
leaving  Madonna  in  bed  with  Dante  or  Homer,  and  quite  insensible 


MEMOIR. 


419 


to  the  attractions  of  before-breakfast  walks.  With  my  cigar  I get 
a little  reading  done,  and  sometimes  write  a little;  but  the  fore- 
noon is  usually  sauntered  and  pottered  away.  When  Madonna  has 
satisfied  her  inexhaustible  craving  for  knowledge  till  nearly  lunch- 
time, we  play  lawn-tennis.  Then  drive  out  for  two  or  three  hours. 
Music  and  books  till  dinner.  After  cigar  and  nap  she  reads  to  me 
till  ten,  and  I finish  by  some  light  work  till  eleven.  But  I hope  in 
a week  or  two  to  get  stronger  and  able  to  work  again,  the  more  so 
as  ‘the  night  in  which  no  man  can  work  * is  fast  approaching.” 

Mr.  R.  Seeley  agreed  with  Mr.  Hamerton’s  opinion  that 
“ Modern  Frenchmen  ” was  one  of  his  best  works,  “ admirably 
written,  full  of  information  and  interest.” 

Professor  Seeley  had  also  said : “ I wish  English  people 
would  take  an  interest  in  such  books,  but  I fear  they  won’t. 
There  ought  to  be  many  such  books  written.” 

Mr.  G.  H.  Lewes  suggested  that  the  other  biographies  in 
preparation  should  be  published  separately  in  some  popular 
magazine;  but  the  author,  having  been  discouraged  by  the 
coolness  of  the  reception,  gave  up  the  idea  of  a sequel  to  what 
had  already  appeared,  and  the  material  he  had  been  gathering 
on  Augustin  Thierry,  General  Castellane,  and  Arago  remained 
useless. 

The  boat  in  progress  had  been  devised  in  view  of  a voyage 
on  the  Rh6ne,  for  Mr.  Hamerton,  who  greatly  admired  the 
noble  character  of  the  scenery  in  the  Rhone  Valley,  had 
longed  for  the  opportunity  of  making  it  known  by  an  impor- 
tant illustrated  work.  He  submitted  the  plan  to  Mr.  Seeley, 
who  answered : — 

“ I like  your  Rhone  scheme ; it  is  a grand  subject,  but  a book  on 
the  Rhone  should  begin  at  the  Rh6ne  glacier  and  end  at  the 
Mediterranean.  Have  your  ideas  enlarged  to  that  extent.  One 
cannot  well  omit  the  upper  part,  which  the  English  who  travel  in 
Switzerland  know  so  well.  The  Rhone  valley  is  very  picturesque, 
and  the  exit  of  the  Rhone  from  the  Lake  of  Geneva  is  a thing 
never  to  be  forgotten.  But  don’t  go  there  to  get  drowned ; it  is 
horribly  dangerous.” 

For  various  reasons  — amongst  others,  the  time  required 
and  the  outlay  — the  idea  of  the  book  entertained  by  Mr. 


420 


MEMOIR. 


Hamerton  differed  considerably  from  that  of  Mr.  Seeley; 
it  was  explained  at  length,  and  finally  accepted  in  these 
words : “ I think  your  plan  of  a voyage  on  the  navigable 
Kh6ne,  with  prologue  and  epilogue,  will  do  well.” 

This  plan,  however,  was  never  realized,  owing  to  insur- 
mountable obstacles;  it  was  taken  up  again  and  again, 
studied,  modified,  and  regretfully  relinquished  after  several 
years  for  that  of  the  Saone,  much  more  practicable,  but  still 
not  without  its  difficulties. 

And  now  what  might  have  been  a great  event  in  the  life  of 
Mr.  Hamerton  — namely,  the  possibility  of  his  election  to 
the  Watson-Gordon  Chair  of  Fine  Arts  in  Edinburgh,  began 
to  occupy  his  mind.  He  was  strongly  urged  by  his  friends  to 
come  forward  as  a candidate,  but  he  hesitated  a good  deal  for 
several  reasons,  the  most  important  being  the  necessity  of  two 
places  of  residence,  for  he  would  not  have  inflicted  upon  my 
mother  and  myself  the  pain  of  absolute  separation.  Still, 
there  were,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  in  case  of  success,  some 
undeniable  advantages  — first  of  all  a fixed  income,  and  the 
possibility  of  seeing,  in  the  course  of  the  necessary  journeys, 
what  might  be  of  interest  in  London  and  Paris,  as  well  as  the 
possibility  of  attending  more  efficaciously  to  the  “Portfolio.” 
Mr.  Seeley,  who  had  always  endeavored  to  tempt  his  editor 
over  to  England,  declared  himself  delighted  at  the  prospect. 
He  had  formerly  sent  such  hints  as  these:  “ I wish  you  had 
a neat  flying  machine  and  could  pop  over  and  do  the  business 
yourself.  ” Or  at  Cowes : “ I thought  of  you,  and  said  to 

myself,  how  much  more  reasonable  it  would  be  for  Hamerton 
to  have  a snug  little  house  here,  and  a snug  little  sailing- 
boat,  instead  of  living  at  that  preposterous  Autun.  How  he 
would  enjoy  dancing  over  these  waves,  which  make  me  sick 
to  look  at  them ; and  how  pleasant  it  would  be  to  tempt  him 
to  pay  frequent  visits  to  Kinsgton!  There  are  delightful 
cottages  and  villages  to  sketch  in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  and 
charming  woodland  scenery  in  the  New  Forest.”  Again: 
“ When  our  new  house  is  dry  enough  then  you  will  be  obliged 
to  come  over.  It  will  be  better  than  seeing  the  Paris 
Exhibition.  And  when  you  are  once  in  England  you  will 


MEMOIR. 


421 


take  a cottage  at  Cowes,  and  buy  a boat,  and  never  go  back  to 
Autun.  ” 

The  idea  of  becoming  a candidate  was  first  suggested  by 
T.  Woolner  after  a journey  to  Edinburgh,  where  he  had 
heard  some  names  put  forward  for  the  Watson-Gordon  chair, 
and  amongst  them  that  of  Mr.  Hamerton,  which  had  seemed 
to  him  the  most  popular.  On  his  part,  he  had  done  what  he 
could  to  strengthen  this  favorable  opinion  by  spreading  what 
he  knew  of  his  friend,  not  only  as  an  artist  and  cultured  man 
of  letters,  but  also  as  a sociable  conversationalist,  capable 
of  enjoying  intercourse  with  his  fellow-men  in  moments  of 
leisure,  and  he  took  care  to  let  my  husband  know  that  this 
point  was  of  importance  — the  new  professor  being  expected 
to  exercise  hospitality,  so  as  to  create  a sort  of  centre  for  the 
gathering  of  art-lovers.  He  said  he  had  heard  of  a good 
income,  of  light  duties,  and  of  the  almost  certainty  of  success 
in  case  Mr.  Hamerton  should  present  himself. 

Professor  Masson  had  also  suggested  to  Mr.  Macmillan  that 
“ many  persons  in  Edinburgh  would  like  to  secure  the  best  man 
in  Mr.  Hamerton,”  and  Mr.  Craik  wrote  about  it:  “You 
would  be  an  ornament  to  the  University,  and  might  do  useful 
and  important  work  there.  For  many  reasons  the  Scotch  pro- 
fessorships are  enviable,  for  this  particularly  — that  the  session 
is  a short  one,  and  would  require  short  residence.  It  will  be 
pleasant  for  all  of  us,  your  friends,  if  you  go  to  Edinburgh, 
for  it  will  compel  you  to  come  to  England  and  be  seen.” 

Mr.  Seeley  was  also  of  opinion  that  “ no  man  ought  to  be 
wholly  dependent  upon  literary  labor.  It  tries  the  head  too 
much.” 

All  the  friends  who  were  consulted  by  my  husband  answered 
that  they  considered  him  perfectly  adapted  for  the  situation  — 
apart  from  friendly  motives.  Mr.  Alfred  Hunt  wrote : “ I 
would  be  very  glad  to  do  everything  to  forward  your  election. 
I am  indebted  to  you  for  a large  amount  of  gratification  and 
profit  which  I have  derived  from  your  books;  I am  sure  you 
will  allow  me  to  say  that  I am  often  very  far  from  agreeing 
with  you,”  etc. 

E.  L.  Stevenson  wrote : — 


422 


MEMOIR. 


11  Monterey,  Monterey  Co.,  California. 

“ My  dear  Mr.  IIamerton,  — Your  letter  to  my  father  was 
forwarded  to  me  by  mistake,  and  by  mistake  I opened  it.  The 
letter  to  myself  has  not  yet  reached  me.  This  must  explain  my 
own  and  my  father’s  silence.  I shall  write  by  this  or  next  post, 
to  the  only  friends  I have,  who,  I think,  would  have  an  influence, 
as  they  are  both  professors.  I regret  exceedingly  that  I am  not  in 
Edinburgh,  as  I could  perhaps  have  done  more,  and  I need  not 
tell  you  that  what  I might  do  for  you  in  the  matter  of  the  elec- 
tion is  neither  from  friendship  nor  gratitude,  but  because  you  are 
the  only  man  (I  beg  your  pardon)  worth  a damn.  I shall  write  to 
a third  friend,  now  I think  of  it,  whose  father  will  have  great 
influence. 

“I  find  here  (of  all  places  in  the  world)  your  ‘ Essays  on  Art/ 
which  I have  read  with  signal  interest.  I believe  I shall  dig  an 
essay  of  my  own  out  of  one  of  them,  for  it  set  me  thinking ; if 
mine  could  only  produce  yet  another  in  reply  we  could  have  the 
marrow  cut  between  us. 

“ I hope,  my  dear  sir,  you  will  not  think  badly  of  me  for  my 
long  silence.  My  head  has  scarce  been  on  my  shoulders.  I had 
scarce  recovered  from  a prolonged  fit  of  useless  ill  health  than  I 
was  whirled  over  here  double-quick  time  and  by  cheapest 
conveyance. 

“ I have  been  since  pretty  ill,  but  pick  up,  though  still  some- 
what of  a massy  ruin.  If  you  would  view  my  countenance  aright, 
Come  — view  it  by  the  pale  moonlight.  But  that  is  on  the  mend. 
I believe  I have  now  a distant  claim  to  tan. 

“ A letter  will  be  more  than  welcome  in  this  distant  clime  where 
I have  a box  at  the  post-office  — generally,  I regret  to  say,  empty. 
Could  your  recommendation  introduce  me  to  an  American  pub- 
lisher ? My  next  book  I should  really  try  to  get  hold  of  here,  as 
its  interest  is  international,  and  the  more  I am  in  this  country,  the 
more  I understand  the  weight  of  your  influence.  It  is  pleasant  to 
be  thus  most  at  home  abroad,  above  all  when  the  prophet  is  still 
not  without  honor  in  his  own  land.” 

Mr.  W.  Wyld  had  also  written:  “I  need  not  say  I 
heartily  wish  you  success  — and  the  more  so  that  it  would 
have  the  result  of  my  seeing  you  at  least  twice  a year,  a 
pleasure  I shall  anxiously  look  forward  to ; for  the  older  I 
grow  the  more  I yearn  for  that  sort  of  communion  of  thought 


MEMOIR. 


423 


which  is  scarcely  ever  to  be  met  with  in  the  ordinary  way  of 
existence.  ...  I have  no  one  I can  discuss  art  with  . . . 
and  as  for  philosophy — ” 

Miss  Susan  Hamerton  also  pressed  her  nephew  to  offer  him- 
self for  the  chair,  and  indulged  in  bright  hopes  of  frequent 
meetings. 

The  result  was  that,  after  a long  talk  with  me  on  March  21, 
1880,  my  husband  determined  to  offer  himself  as  a candidate, 
and  although  he  did  it  without  much  enthusiasm,  he  began 
immediately  to  prepare  himself  for  the  new  duties  that 
would  be  involved.  First  of  all,  he  told  me  that  his  knowl- 
edge of  the  history  of  art  was  insufficient,  and  would  require 
additional  researches.  His  plan  was  to  go  to  Greece  first, 
then  to  Italy;  another  year  he  would  go  to  Holland  and 
Belgium,  then  to  Spain  — I began  to  be  afraid  of  this  pro- 
gramme, as  I reflected  that  the  income  from  the  professorship 
would  hardly  cover  our  travelling  expenses,  and  that  very 
little  time  would  be  left  for  literary  work  if  the  lectures 
required  so  much  preparation;  however,  I only  begged  him 
to  wait  for  the  result  of  the  election  before  he  undertook  any- 
thing in  view  of  it.  He  agreed,  and  turned  his  thoughts 
towards  the  “ Graphic  Arts,”  and  a new  edition  of  “ Etching 
and  Etchers.” 

In.  the  beginning  of  April,  Mr.  Hamerton  attended  with 
his  family  the  wedding  of  Charles  Gindriez,  his  brother-in- 
law,  and  was  well  pleased  with  the  young  lady,  who  thus 
became  a new  member  in  the  gatherings  at  La  Tuilerie. 

Three  days  later,  his  elder  son  Stephen  started  for  Algiers, 
where  he  had  an  appointment  at  the  Lycee. 

For  some  time  past,  the  two  great  political  parties  at 
Autun  had  been  at  daggers  drawn,  and  the  proprietors  of  the 
Conservative  paper,  “ L’Autunois,”  had  brought  from  Paris  a 
skilful  and  unscrupulous  political  writer  to  crush  its  opponents 
and  to  effect  the  ruin  of  the  rival  paper,  “ La  Republique  du 
Morvan,  ” by  fair  means  or  foul.  The  first  stabs  dealt  by  the 
new  pen  were  directed  against  notable  residents,  and  being 
a good  fencer  and  a good  shot  — in  fact,  a sort  of  bravo  — M. 
Tremplier,  the  wielder  of  the  pen,  proclaimed  loudly  after 


424 


MEMOIR. 


every  libel  that  he  was  ready  to  maintain  what  he  advanced 
at  the  point  of  the  sword,  and  to  give  a meeting  to  all  adver- 
saries. Unacquainted  with  the  real  social  standing  of  Mr. 
Hamerton  in  Autun,  but  knowing  that  he  was  President 
Honoraire  du  Cercle  National,  a Liberal  institution  patronized 
by  the  Sous-Prefet  and  Republican  Deputies,  M.  Tremplier 
thought  it  would  be  a master-stroke  to  defame  his  character  by 
accusing  him  of  being  the  author  of  some  anonymous  articles 
against  the  clergy  which  had  appeared  in  “ La  Republique 
du  Morvan.”  Though  greatly  irritated  by  this  unfair  attack, 
my  husband  contrived  to  keep  his  temper,  and  simply  denied 
the  accusation.  This  denial  was  indorsed  by  the  editor  of 
the  newspaper  in  which  the  articles  had  been  published, 
and  the  disagreeable  incident  was  expected  to  end  there.  But 
this  would  not  have  satisfied  the  truculent  M.  Tremplier,  and 
in  the  next  number  of  his  paper  he  expressed  in  arrogant 
terms  an  utter  disbelief  in  Mr.  Hamerton’ s denial,  and  ven- 
omously attacked  him  for  his  nationality,  literary  preten- 
sions, etc.,  winding  up  his  diatribe,  as  usual,  by  a challenge. 
This  was  too  much,  and  my  husband  resolved  to  start  for 
Autun  immediately,  and  to  horsewhip  the  scoundrel  as  he 
deserved.  Mr.  Pickering,  an  English  artist,  and  friend  of 
ours,  who  happened  to  be  at  La  Tuilerie,  offered  to  assist  my 
husband  by  keeping  the  ground  clear  while  he  administered 
the  punishment  — for  M.  Tremplier,  notwithstanding  his 
bravado,  deemed  it  prudent  to  surround  himself  with  a bevy 
of  officers,  and  was  seldom  to  be  met  alone,  I was  strongly 
opposed  to  this  course,  and  at  last  I prevailed  upon  my  hus- 
band to  abandon  it  by  representing  that  he  was  being  drawn 
into  a snare,  for  no  doubt  M.  Tremplier  was  only  waiting  for 
the  attempt  at  violence  he  had  provoked  to  get  his  victim 
seized  and  imprisoned,  so  as  to  be  able  ever  after  to  stigmatize 
him  with  the  terrible  phrase,  “ C’est  un  homme  qui  a fait 
de  la  prison.”  This  would  be  undeniable,  and  as  people 
never  inquire  why  “ un  homme  a fait  de  la  prison,”  it  is 
as  well  to  avoid  it  altogether.  We  agreed  upon  a different 
policy,  and  resolved  to  prosecute  the  “ Autunois  ” for  libel, 
and  immediately  set  off  to  retain  a well-known  advocate,  who 


MEMOIR. 


425 


belonged  to  the  Conservative  party,  and  was  said  to  be  one  of 
the  proprietors  of  the  “ Autunois.  ” He  knew  my  husband 
personally,  and  also  knew  that  he  was  incapable  of  having 
written  the  anonymous  articles,  still  less  capable  of  telling  a 
lie,  and  as  we  felt  sure  of  his  own  honorable  character,  we 
boldly  asked  him  to  defend  a political  opponent.  This  was 
putting  him  in  a very  delicate  situation,  and  he  complained 
of  it  at  once ; but  my  husband  insisted,  and  said  that  he  could 
not  fairly  shun  this  duty.  Vainly  did  this  gentleman,  sup- 
ported by  the  President  du  Tribunal  and  other  notabilities 
of  the  same  party,  try  to  dissuade  Mr.  Hamerton  from  seek- 
ing redress,  by  saying  that  “no  one  attached  the  slightest 
importance  to  such  libels,”  “that  he  was  too  much  above  M. 
Tremplier  to  resent  anything  that  came  from  his  mercenary 
pen,”  “that  his  character  was  unimpeachable,”  etc.  He  was 
even  warned  that  he  had  not  the  remotest  chance  of  a verdict 
in  his  favor,  because  he  could  not  prove  that  he  was  not  the 
author  of  the  objectionable  articles.  “ I should  have  thought 
that  M.  Tremplier  would  be  called  upon  to  prove  that  I had 
written  them,”  he  answered.  “Anyhow,  if  I can’t  count 
upon  justice  here,  I will  appeal  to  the  court  at  Dijon.”  See- 
ing that  his  resolution  was  not  to  be  shaken,  he  was  asked 
what  would  satisfy  him,  and  he  answered,  “ An  apology 
from  M.  Tremplier  in  the  ‘ Autunois.  ’ ” And  M.  Tremplier 
had  to  submit  to  the  orders  of  the  all-powerful  keepers  of  the 
purse-strings : he  did  it  with  a bad  grace  — but  he  had  to  do  it. 

One  of  the  articles  attributed  to  Mr.  Hamerton  had  been 
directed  against  the  Bishop  of  Autun,  whom  he  highly 
esteemed,  and  there  was  much  curiosity  as  to  the  opinion 
of  the  prelate  himself.  That  opinion  was  soon  publicly 
expressed  by  a visit  from  this  dignitary  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church  to  the  Protestant  tenant  of  La  Tuilerie. 

On  receiving  Monseigneur  Perraud,  I thanked  him  first  for 
his  good  opinion,  of  which  I had  never  doubted,  knowing 
him  to  be  a reader  of  my  husband’s  works,  and  also  because 
there  was  no  fear  that  a man  of  his  culture  could  believe  the 
anonymous  articles  to  be  written  by  the  author  of  the  biog- 
raphy of  l’Abbe  Perreyve  in  “Modern  Prenchmen.” 


426 


MEMOIR. 


Monseigneur  Perraud  answered  that  my  husband’s  char- 
acter and  literary  talent  were  so  much  above  question  that 
he  would  never  have  given  a thought  to  this  affair  had  it  not 
been  that  the  “ Autunois  ” was  often  called  “ Le  Journal  de 
1’EvSche,”  though  in  fact  the  Bishop  had  no  more  to  do  with 
it  than  with  its  editor,  M.  Tremplier,  whom  he  had  never 
consented  to  receive.  But  unwilling  to  allow  the  possibility 
of  any  doubt  to  remain  in  other  people’s  minds,  he  had  taken 
this  opportunity  of  becoming  personally  acquainted  with  my 
husband,  and  of  giving  a proof  of  his  high  regard  for  him. 

Monseigneur  Perraud  had  a reputation  for  freezing  dignity 
which  kept  many  people  aloof;  but  he  talked  quite  freely  with 
my  husband.  Dignity  he  certainly  possessed  in  an  unusual 
degree,  and  the  same  might  be  said  of  Mr.  Hamerton,  but 
it  was  no  bar  to  interesting  intercourse  nor  to  brotherly  sym- 
pathy, as  we  found  afterwards  in  sorrowful  circumstances. 

This  first  visit  certainly  enhanced  the  high  opinion  which 
each  had  formed  of  the  other,  and  subsequent  meetings  con- 
firmed the  interest  they  found  in  each  other’s  views  and 
sentiments. 

I mentioned  Mr.  Pickering  in  connection  with  the  affair 
of  the  “Autunois,”  and  it  may  now  be  explained  that  after 
reading  “Round  my  House,”  he  had  fancied  he  should  like 
to  see  the  scenery  described  in  the  book,  as  it  would  probably 
afford  him  paintable  subjects.  Although  the  name  of  the 
neighboring  town  was  not  given,  and  though  great  changes 
had  been  made  by  the  construction  of  a railway  since  the  pub- 
lication of  the  book,  Mr.  Pickering  lighted  upon  Autun  as 
the  very  place  he  was  in  search  of.  He  soon  made  my  hus- 
band’s acquaintance,  and  a friendship  between  them  was 
rapidly  established. 

Mr.  Woolner,  who  had  kept  up  for  some  months  a brisk 
correspondence  in  behalf  of  Mr.  Hamerton’s  candidature,  now 
heard  that  matters  were  not  going  so  smoothly  as  he  had 
expected.  He  was  told  that  the  income  would  not  come  up 
to  the  sum  stated  at  first;  that  the  formation  of  an  art 
museum  was  contemplated,  in  which  case  the  duties  of  form- 
ing and  keeping  it  would  devolve  upon  the  professor.  There 


MEMOIR . 


427 


was  also  a desire  that  the  students  should  receive  technical 
instruction;  and,  lastly,  it  was  rumored  that  forty  lectures  a 
year  would  he  required.  In  fact,  Mr.  Hamerton  began  to 
regret  that  he  had  offered  himself  for  the  post  without  know- 
ing exactly  what  he  would  be  expected  to  do. 

Whilst  in  this  frame  of  mind  he  was  advised  to  go  to 
Edinburgh  in  order  to  call  upon  each  of  the  electors.  No 
one  acquainted  with  his  character  could  have  imagined  for  an 
instant  that  he  would  comply.  “ The  electors,”  he  said  to 
me , “ must  be  acquainted  with  my  works ; I have  sent  nearly 
fifty  testimonials  given  by  eminent  artists,  men  of  letters,  and 
publishers;  I consider  this  as  sufficient  to  enable  the  electors 
to  judge  of  the  capacities  for  which  an  art  professor  ought 
to  be  chosen.  If  these  are  judged  insufficient,  my  presence 
could  not  give  them  more  weight.” 

I find  this  simple  entry  in  the  diary:  “July  20,  1880. 
Got  news  that  I was  not  elected ; ” and  though  he  may  have 
regretted  the  time  wasted  in  this  fruitless  attempt,  I am  con- 
vinced that  he  experienced  a sensation  of  delightful  relief 
when  no  longer  dreading  encroachments  upon  his  liberty  to 
work  as  he  thought  fit.1  After  all,  there  remained  to  him  as 
a lasting  compensation  the  tokens  of  flattering  regard  for 
his  character  and  of  appreciation  of  his  talents  given  in  the 
numerous  testimonials  by  such  eminent  persons  as  Mr.  R. 
Browning,  Sir  F.  Leighton,  Sir  J.  E.  Millais,  Sir  John 
Gilbert,  Mr.  T.  Woolner,  Mr.  G.  F.  Watts,  Professor  Seeley, 
Professor  Sidney  Colvin,  Professor  Oliver,  Mr.  Mark  Patti- 
son,  Mr.  S.  Palmer,  Mr.  Orchardson,  Mr.  Marks,  Mr.  A.  W. 
Hunt,  Mr.  Herkomer,  Mr.  Vicat  Cole,  Mr.  Alma  Tadema, 
Sir  G.  Reid,  Mr.  W.  E.  Lockhart,  Mr.  J.  MacWhirter,  Pro- 
fessor Legros,  M.  Paul  Raj  on,  M.  Leopold  Flameng,  etc. 

The  testimonials  are  too  numerous  to  be  given  here,  but 
they  all  agreed  in  the  expressed  opinion  that  Mr.  Hamerton 
would  be  “the  right  man  in  the  right  place,”  or  “the  very 
man.” 

1 It  was  also  Mr.  R.  Seeley’s  opinion  when  he  wrote : “ You  have  felt 
so  much  doubt  as  to  the  effect  of  such  a change  of  life  upon  your  health 
that  the  decision  may  come  as  a relief  to  you.” 


428 


MEMOIR. 


Although  the  ft  Life  of  Turner  ” had  first  appeared  in  the 
“ Portfolio,  ” it  was  again  well  received  by  the  public  in  book 
form,  and  greatly  praised  by  the  press,  particularly  in  America. 
The  “ Boston  Courier  ” said:  — 

“We  have  found  this  volume  thoroughly  fascinating,  and  think 
that  no  open-minded  reader  of  ‘ Modern  Painters  ’ should  neglect 
to  read  this  life.  In  it  he  will  find  Turner  dethroned  from  the 
pinnacle  of  a demi-god  on  which  Ruskin  had  set  him  (greatly  to  the 
artist’s  disadvantage)  ; but  he  will  also  find  him  placed  on  another 
reasonably  high  pedestal,  where  one  may  admire  him  intelligently 
and  lovingly,  in  spite  of  the  defects  in  drawing,  the  occasional 
lapses  in  coloring,  and  the  other  peculiarities  which  are  made  clear 
to  his  observation  by  Mr.  Hamerton’s  discussion.” 

He  had  found  it  a difficult  subject  to  treat  because  of  the 
paucity  of  incidents  in  Turner’s  life;  but  the  painter’s  genius 
had  made  so  deep  an  impression  upon  him  in  his  earlier  years 
that  he  had  eagerly  studied  his  works  and  sought  information 
about  his  personality  from  the  friends  who  had,  at  some  time 
or  other,  been  acquainted  with  the  marvellous  artist.  I 
believe  that  my  husband  hardly  ever  went  to  the  National 
Gallery  without  visiting  the  Turner  Boom,  and  that  is  saying 
much,  for  during  his  sojourns  in  London  he  seldom  missed 
going  every  day  it  was  open,  and  sometimes  he  went  twice,  — 
once  in  the  morning,  and  again  in  the  afternoon.  Great  as 
was  his  admiration  of  Turner’s  oil  pictures,  I believe  it  was 
equalled  by  his  delight  in  the  same  master’s  water-colors 
and  drawings.  When  in  the  lower  rooms,  where  they  are 
exhibited,  he  could  hardly  be  prevailed  upon  to  go  upstairs 
again,  and  I had  to  plead  fatigue  and  hunger  to  recall  him  to 
the  realities  of  life.  Although  his  appreciation  of  Constable 
was  high,  it  could  not  be  compared  to  what  he  felt  for  Turner, 
because  “ Turner  was  so  wide  in  range  that  he  was  the  oppo- 
site of  Constable,  whose  art  was  the  expression  of  intense 
affection  for  one  locality.” 


MEMOIR. 


429 


CHAPTER  XV. 

1880-1882. 

Third  edition  of  “Etching  and  Etchers.” — Kew.  — “The  Graphic 
Arts.”  — “ Human  Intercourse.” 

Once  rid  of  the  perturbation  occasioned  by  the  affair  of  the 
election,  Mr.  Hamerton  was  free  to  devote  himself  energeti- 
cally to  the  preparation  of  a new  and  splendid  edition  of 
“Etching  and  Etchers,”  for  which  he  spared  neither  thought 
nor  pains, — being  generously  entrusted  by  Messrs.  Macmillan 
with  the  necessary  funds,  and  given  carte  blanche  for  the 
arrangement.  Mr.  Craik  had  said,  in  a letter  dated  Jan.  10, 
1880:  “We  are  disposed  to  make  it  a very  fine  book,  and 
not  to  grudge  the  outlay.  We  must  leave  all  the  details  for 
you  to  arrange.”  In  another,  of  May  29,  he  said  again: 
“We  are  particularly  anxious  to  make  it  a beautiful  book; 
and  I think  the  plan  of  making  each  edition  completely  dif- 
ferent from  the  preceding,  gives  it  an  interest  and  value  that 
will  make  the  book  always  sought  after.  The  first  edition  is 
a scarce  and  valuable  book.  The  second  will  rise  in  value.  ” 

Being  allowed  to  do  exactly  as  he  liked,  the  author  of 
“ Etching  and  Etchers  ” set  to  his  task  with  delightful  antici- 
pation of  the  result. 

At  the  same  time  he  was  also  giving  a good  deal  of  time  to 
the  annotation  of  certain  engravings  and  etchings  presented 
by  himself  and  some  friends  to  the  Manchester  Museum,  in 
which  he  took  great  interest. 

When  the  vacation  brought  the  boys  home  in  August,  it 
was  decided  to  have  a trial  trip  on  tho  Saone  in  the  “ Morvan- 
delle;”  but  after  behaving  well  enough  on  the  water,  she 
filled  and  sank  at  anchor  whilst  her  captain  was  quietly 
enjoying  dinner  with  his  sons  at  the  nearest  inn.  The  boat 


430 


MEMOIR. 


being  made  of  wood,  and  divided  into  a great  many  compart- 
ments to  hold  stores  and  luggage,  let  the  water  into  those 
compartments  as  the  wood  dried  and  shrank.  It  became, 
therefore,  necessary  to  exchange  the  wooden  tubes  for  iron 
ones,  for  it  was  a double  boat.  So  the  crew  had  to  come  back 
home,  and  Mr.  Hamerton  sent  to  a periodical  a relation 
of  his  impressions  and  adventures  in  this  brief  voyage  and 
shipwreck. 

In  the  summer  there  was  an  exhibition  at  the  Glasgow 
Institute  of  Fine  Arts,  and  my  husband  was  asked  to  send 
something  if  possible ; but  being  almost  overwhelmed  with 
work,  he  was  obliged  to  decline  the  invitation.  Mr.  R. 
Walker,  the  secretary  of  the  Institute,  wrote  to  say  how 
sorry  he  was  not  to  have  his  name  in  the  catalogue,  and 
added : — 

“ Our  collection  of  etchings  is  very  good,  and  during  the  short 
time  we  have  been  open  the  people  of  Glasgow  have  learned  more 
about  etching  than  ever  they  knew  before.  Your  book  has  been  a 
source  of  infinite  delight  to  many  here.  A short  time  ago  we  all 
hoped  to  have  you  among  us.  The  loss  is  ours.  Sometimes  I 
trust  we  may  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  in  Glasgow.  You 
would  find  us  not  altogether  wanting  in  appreciation  of  what  is 
right  in  art,  and  there  is  an  increasing  number  of  people  here  who 
believe  that  ledgers  are  not  the  only  books  worth  studying.” 

Although  the  “ Portfolio  ” was  now  generally  acknowledged 
to  be  at  the  head  of  artistic  periodicals  in  England,  it  was 
the  desire  of  both  its  editor  and  publisher  to  improve  it  still 
further.  In  one  of  his  letters  Mr.  Craik  had  said : “ What 
an  important  part  the  ‘Portfolio’  is  playing!  I believe  you 
are  affecting  the  public,  and  compelling  them  to  recognize  the 
best  things  in  a way  they  never  did  before.  I think  your 
conduct  of  the  monthly  admirable.” 

Jt  was  now  proposed  to  add  to  its  artistic  value  by  giving 
more  original  etchings.  Hitherto  the  peculiar  uncertainty  of 
the  art  of  etching  had  hindered  the  realization  of  this  desire, 
for  there  being  no  certainty  about  the  quality  of  an  etching 
from  a picture,  the  risk  is  immensely  increased  when  a com- 


MEMOIR. 


431 


mission  is  given  for  an  original  etching.  The  celebrity  of  an 
etcher  and  his  previous  achievements  can  only  give  hopes  that 
he  may  be  successful  once  more,  but  these  hopes  are  far  from 
a certainty.  Even  such  artists  as  Rajon  and  Jacquemart, — 
to  mention  only  two  of  the  most  eminent,  — who  con- 
stantly delighted  the  lovers  of  art  by  masterpieces  of  skill  and 
artistic  feeling,  — and  were,  moreover,  painters  themselves, 
— were  not  safe  against  failure , and  repeated  failure , even  in 
copying. 

When  a commission  has  been  given  to  an  artist,  the  stipu- 
lated price  has  to  be  paid  whether  the  result  is  a success  or  a 
failure,  unless  the  artist  himself  acknowledges  the  failure  — a 
very  rare  occurrence ; at  best  he  admits  that  some  retouching 
is  desirable,  and  consents  to  undertake  it;  but  too  often  with 
the  result  that  the  plate  loses  all  freshness. 

Such  considerations,  and  many  more,  made  it  necessary  for 
the  publisher  and  editor  of  the  “ Portfolio  ” to  discuss  the 
subject  at  length  and  without  hurry.  In  addition  to  the 
affairs  of  the  “Portfolio,”  there  was  the  choice  of  illustra- 
tions for  the  book  on  the  Graphic  Arts,  which  was  to  be 
published  by  Mr.  Seeley,  and  for  which  the  presence  of  the 
author  in  London  was  almost  a necessity. 

It  was  then  decided  that,  both  our  boys  having  situations, 
we  would  take  our  daughter  with  us  and  seek  for  lodgings 
somewhere  on  the  banks  of  the  Thames,  probably  at  Kew. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Seeley,  with  their  usual  kindness,  invited  us  to 
stay  with  them  until  we  had  found  convenient  accommodation. 

We  started  in  October,  and  as  soon  as  we  reached  Paris  we 
heard  from  our  younger  son  Richard  that  he  was  far  from 
pleased  with  his  present  situation.  Instead  of  having  to 
devote  only  a few  hours  a day  to  teaching  English,  as  he  had 
been  promised,  the  whole  of  his  time  was  taken  up  by  the 
usual  drudgery  which  is  the  lot  of  an  under-master,  so  that 
he  could  not  study  for  himself.  The  first  thing  his  father 
did  was  to  set  him  free  from  that  bondage,  and  to  devise  the 
best  means  to  enable  him  to  pursue  the  study  of  painting 
which  the  boy  wished  to  follow  as  a profession.  They  went 
together  to  consult  Jean  Paul  Laurens,  who  said  that  the 


432 


MEMOIR. 


most  efficacious  way  would  be  — not  to  study  under  one 
master,  but  to  go  to  one  of  Juan’s  ateliers,  where  students 
get  the  benefit  of  sound  advice  from  several  leading  artists. 
In  conformity  with  this  counsel  my  husband  saw  M.  Juan, 
and  after  learning  from  him  the  names  of  the  artists  visiting 
the  particular  atelier  where  Richard  was  to  study,  he  got  him 
recommended  to  Jules  Lefebvre  and  to  Gerome  by  an  inti- 
mate friend. 

Paul  Raj  on,  as  usual,  did  not  fail  to  call  upon  us,  and  we 
were  very  sorry  to  notice  a great  change  for  the  worse  in  his 
appearance.  He  said  he  had  been  very  ill  lately,  and  was 
still  far  from  well;  he  seemed  to  have  lost  all  his  buoyancy 
of  spirits,  and  to  look  careworn.  He  alluded  to  pecuniary 
difficulties  resulting  from  the  early  death  of  his  brother-in- 
law,  which  left  his  sister,  and  a child  I believe,  entirely 
dependent  upon  him.  Without  reckoning  on  adverse  fortune 
or  ill-health,  he  had  built  himself  a house  with  a fine  studio 
at  Auvers-sur-Oise,  to  escape  from  the  incessant  interruptions 
to  his  work  when  in  Paris.  But  of  course  the  outlay  had 
been  heavier  than  he  had  intended  it  to  be,  and  these  cares 
made  him  rather  anxious.  Being  very  good  friends,  we  had 
formerly  received  confidences  from  him  about  the  dissatisfac- 
tion created  by  the  loneliness  of  his  home  and  the  want  of  a 
strong  affection  — in  spite  of  his  success  in  society  and  the 
flattering  smiles  and  speeches  of  renowned  beauties.  In 
answer  to  my  suggestion  that  marriage  would  perhaps  give 
him  what  he  wanted,  he  had  answered:  “ No  doubt;  but 
where  shall  I find  the  wife?  The  girl  I introduce  into 
society  as  my  wife  must  be  very  beautiful,  else  what  would 
society  think  of  my  taste  as  an  artist?  . . . She  must  also 
be  above  the  average  in  intelligence,  to  meet  with  the  elite 
and  keep  her  proper  place;  and  lastly,  she  must  also  be 
wealthy,  for  my  earnings  are  not  sufficient  for  the  frame  I 
desire  to  show  her  in.”  He  was  quite  serious,  but  I laughed 
and  said:  “ I beg  to  alter  my  opinion  of  your  wants.  The 
wife  you  describe  would  be  the  mere  satisfaction  of  your 
vanity,  and  if  you  were  fortunate  enough  to  meet  with  the 
gifts  of  beauty,  intelligence,  and  wealth  in  the  same  person 


MEMOIR. 


433 


it  would  be  very  exacting  to  expect  that  in  addition  to  all 
these  she  should  be  domestic,  to  minister  to  your  home  com- 
forts, and  sufficiently  devoted  for  your  need  of  affection.” 

“ I told  you  I thought  it  very  difficult,”  he  sighed. 

“ If  you  take  other  people’s  opinion  about  the  choice  of  a 
wife,”  my  husband  said,  “ you  are  not  ripe  for  matrimony;  no 
man  ought  to  get  married  unless  he  feels  that  he  cannot  help 
it,  — that  he  could  not  live  happily  without  the  companion- 
ship of  a particular  woman.  ” 

There  had  been  an  interval  of  a few  years  between  this 
conversation  and  our  present  meeting;  but  M.  Rajon  had 
not  forgotten  it,  for  he  said  with  a shade  of  sadness : “ It  is 
now,  Mrs.  Hamerton,  that  I feel  the  want  of  a domestic  and 
devoted  wife,  such  as  you  advised  me  to  choose;  but  mar- 
riage is  out  of  the  question.  I am  an  invalid.” 

We  tried  to  cheer  him  up,  and  my  husband’s  serene  phi- 
losophy seemed  to  do  him  good.  He  repeated  to  Paul  Raj  on 
his  usual  comparison  of  the  events  of  life  to  a very  good  cup 
of  coffee  to  which  a pinch  of  salt  is  always  added  before  we 
are  allowed  to  taste  it.  “ Your  reputation  and  talent,”  he 
said,  “ make  a capital  cup  of  coffee ; but  your  illness  has 
seasoned  it  with  rather  a heavy  pinch  of  salt.” 

The  journey  to  England  was  got  through  without  any 
serious  accident  to  my  husband’s  health,  but  we  had  to  be 
very  careful  in  adhering  to  our  rules  of  slow  trains  and  night 
travelling  and  frequent  stoppages. 

It  was  the  first  visit  of  our  daughter  to  England,  and  her 
father  watched  her  impressions  with  great  interest.  She 
spoke  English  timidly  and  reluctantly;  but  Mrs.  Seeley  was 
so  kindly  encouraging  that  she  overcame  her  timidity. 

Mr.  Seeley  received  us  in  his  pretty,  newly  built  house  at 
Kingston,  which,  being  quite  in  the  country  and  very  quiet, 
suited  my  husband’s  tastes  admirably.  The  proximity  of  a 
beautiful  park  was  very  tempting  for  rambles,  and  when  at 
leisure  we  much  enjoyed  going  all  together  for  a stroll  under 
its  noble  trees.  Mr.  Seeley  and  his  friend  sometimes  went 
off  to  London  together  in  the  morning,  but  it  was  more  desir- 
able for  my  husband  to  go  to  town  only  in  the  afternoon, 

28 


434 


MEMOIR. 


because  he  felt  less  and  less  nervous  as  the  day  wore  on,  and 
was  quite  himself  in  the  evening. 

We  left  Kingston  to  go  and  stay  for  a few  days  with  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Macmillan.  The  evenings  after  Mr.  Macmillan's  return 
from  business  were  very  animated  with  conversation  and  music. 
Sometimes  Mr.  Macmillan  gave  us  some  Scotch  and  Gaelic 
songs  with  remarkable  pathos  and  power;  and  invariably,  after 
every  one  else  had  retired,  he  remained  talking  intimately, 
often  confidentially,  with  my  husband  far  into  the  night. 

A pretty  incident  occurred  before  we  left  Knapdale.  One 
afternoon  we  found  Mrs.  Macmillan  very  busy  putting  the 
finishing  touches  to  an  embroidered  and  be-ribboned  baby’s 
frock,  intended  as  a present  to  her  husband’s  first  grandchild, 
on  his  first  visit  to  Knapdale,  which  was  to  be  on  that  very 
day.  After  dinner  the  little  man  made  his  appearance  in  the 
decorated  frock,  and  took  his  place  upon  his  grandfather’s 
shoulders.  Then  we  all  formed  a procession,  headed  by  the 
still  erect  form  of  the  grandsire  supporting  the  infant  hope  of 
the  family,  and  leading  us  — parents,  relatives,  and  guests  — 
to  the  cheerful  domain  of  the  cook.  She  proudly  received 
the  company,  standing  ladle  in  hand,  by  an  enormous  earthen 
vessel  containing  a tempting  mixture,  in  which  candied 
fruits,  currants,  and  spices  seemed  to  predominate.  We  were 
expected,  every  one,  to  bring  this  medley  to  greater  perfec- 
tion by  turning  over  a portion  of  it  with  the  ladle.  It  was 
duly  offered  first  to  the  little  stranger,  whose  grandsire  seized 
and  plunged  it  into  the  savory  depths,  whilst  the  tiny  baby 
hand  was  tenderly  laid  upon  his  own. 

The  second  part  of  the  ceremony  — tasting  — had  likewise 
to  be  performed  by  proxy,  for  the  young  scion  of  the  house 
peremptorily  refused  to  trifle  with  any  temptation  in  the  form 
of  mincemeat.  We  all  in  succession  performed  the  ancient 
rite,  and  my  husband  said  to  me  afterwards  what  a capital  sub- 
ject for  a picture  of  family  portraits  the  scene  would  afford. 
The  contrast  in  the  attire  of  the  cook  and  her  maids  with  the 
toilettes  of  the  ladies,  together  with  the  picturesque  background 
of  the  bright  kitchen  utensils,  made  a subject  in  the  style  of 
an  old  Dutch  master,  with  a touch  of  modern  sentiment. 


MEMOIR. 


435 


After  seeing  different  places  on  the  hanks  of  the  Thames 
we  decided  again  for  Kew,  hut  this  time  we  required  larger 
lodgings  — not  only  on  account  of  Mary,  hut  also  for  Miss 
Susan  Hamerton  and  our  cousins,  Ben  and  Annie  Hinde, 
whom  we  had  invited  to  join  us  there.  They  had  gladly 
accepted  the  invitation,  and  our  meeting  was  happy  and 
cheerful.  We  had  been  very  fortunate  in  our  lodgings,  which 
were  spacious,  clean,  and  with  a good  view  of  the  Green. 
Our  landlady  was  a very  respectable  and  obliging  person,  and 
she  let  us  have,  when  we  wished,  the  use  of  a chaise  and  a 
fast-trotting  little  pony,  which  greatly  added  to  Aunt  Susan’s 
enjoyment  of  the  country,  for  her  nephew  drove  her  to  the 
prettiest  places  in  the  neighborhood,  and  through  Richmond 
Park  whenever  the  weather  allowed  it.  The  beautiful  gardens 
received  almost  a daily  visit  from  us,  and  were  a most  agree- 
able as  well  as  a convenient  resort  for  our  aged  aunt,  as  she 
could  either  walk  in  the  open  grounds  when  it  was  mild 
enough,  or  else  visit  the  numerous  hot-houses  if  she  found 
the  outside  air  too  keen  for  her. 

We  had  been  fortunate  in  this  choice  of  Kew  for  our 
temporary  residence;  not  only  did  we  like  the  place  in  itself, 
but  we  met  with  so  hospitable  and  flattering  a reception  from 
several  resident  families,  that  they  contrived  to  make  us  feel 
unlike  strangers  among  them,  and  ever  after,  our  thoughts 
turned  back  to  that  time  with  mingled  feelings  of  regret, 
pleasure,  and  gratitude;  and  whenever  we  came  to  contem- 
plate the  possibility  of  moving  to  England,  Kew  was  always 
the  place  named  as  being  preferred  by  both  of  us. 

Here  we  again  met  Professor  Oliver,  whom  my  husband 
had  known  since  he  came  to  Kew  alone  for  the  first  time. 
Being  greatly  interested  in  painting,  and  possessing  a collec- 
tion of  fine  water-colors  by  Mr.  Alfred  Hunt,  he  took  pleasure 
in  showing  them  to  Mr.  Hamerton,  as  well  as  the  Herbarium, 
of  which  he  was  Director. 

Professor  Church  and  his  wife  showed  themselves  most 
friendly  and  untiringly  hospitable.  Very  interesting  and 
distinguished  people  were  to  be  met  at  their  house,  where 
the  master  was  ever  willing  to  display  before  his  guests  some 


436 


MEMOIR. 


of  his  valuable  collections  of  jewels,  rare  tissues,  old  laces, 
and  Japanese  bronzes.  We  often  had  the  pleasure  of  meet- 
ing at  this  friendly  house  Mr.  Thiselton  Dyer,  now  Director 


of  Kew  Gardens,  and  his  wife,  the  daughter  of  Sir  John 
Hooker  — a most  charming  person,  who  reminded  both  of  us 
of  the  lovely  women  immortalized  by  Reynolds. 


MEMOIR. 


437 


The  third  edition  of  “ Etching  and  Etchers,”  now  on  sale, 
had  fulfilled  all  expectations,  and  was  universally  admired 
and  praised.  It  was  a great  satisfaction  to  the  author,  who 
had  never  before  enjoyed  such  a complete  recognition.  His 
reputation  and  popularity  increased  rapidly,  and  if  he  had 
liked  he  would  have  been  a good  deal  lionized;  but  although 
far  from  insensible  to  this  success,  he  remained  true  to  his 
studious  habits  — going  with  Mr.  Seeley  to  the  National 
Gallery,  British  or  Kensington  Museums,  to  choose  illustra- 
tions for  the  “ Graphic  Arts,”  or  quietly  writing  at  his  lodg- 
ings, and  only  accepting  invitations  from  his  friends  and 
publishers. 

In  December  Mr.  Macmillan  gave  a dinner  at  the  Garrick 
Club  in  honor  of  the  author  of  “Etching  and  Etchers,”  who 
was  warmly  congratulated  by  the  other  guests  invited  to  meet 
him. 

I have  still  in  my  possession  the  menu  belonging  to  Mr. 
Alma  Tadema  who  said  to  my  husband : “ I dare  say  Mrs. 
Hamerton  would  like  to  have  a souvenir  of  this  evening  — 
present  her  with  this  in  my  name,”  and  he  handed  his  menu, 
on  the  back  of  which  he  had  quickly  and  cleverly  drawn  a 
little  likeness  of  himself  in  caricature,  and  the  guests  had 
signed  their  names  on  it.  A facsimile  is  given  on  the  oppo- 
site page. 

As  he  had  given  us  an  invitation  to  visit  his  curious  house 
we  did  not  fail  to  go,  and  Mary  was  especially  attracted  by  the 
famous  grand  piano,  inscribed  inside  with  the  signatures  of 
the  renowned  musicians  who  had  performed  upon  it.  Know- 
ing that  our  daughter  was  seriously  studying  music,  Mrs. 
Alma  Tadema  generously  expressed  the  hope  of  seeing  some- 
time the  signature  of  Miss  Hamerton  by  the  side  of  the  other 
names. 

My  husband  also  took  Mary  to  Mrs.  Woolner’s,  and  she 
enjoyed  greatly  the  society  of  the  children,  who  spoke  Erench 
very  creditably,  and  who  were  interested  in  the  details  she 
could  give  them  about  French  life  and  ways.  They  took  her 
to  their  father’s  studios,  and  sliowed  her  his  works.  When 
dinner-time  came,  however,  she  was  unprepared  for  being 


438 


MEMOIR. 


waited  upon  by  her  new  friends,  and  in  consequence  felt  some- 
what ill  at  ease.  It  was  a fancy  of  Mr.  Woolner’s  to  make 
his  children  wait  upon  his  guests.  They  offered  bread  and 
wine,  and  directed  the  maids,  their  duty  consisting  chiefly 
in  seeing  that  every  guest  received  perfect  attendance.  It 
reminded  one  of  the  pages’  service  in  medkeval  times,  and 
was  accepted  by  people  of  mature  age  as  a gracious  courtesy 
of  their  host,  though  it  proved  rather  embarrassing  to  a girl  of 
fifteen.  I don’t  know  how  long  the  custom  prevailed,  but  I 
did  not  notice  it  in  succeeding  years. 

Our  cousin,  Ben  Hinde,  had  joined  us  only  for  a few  days, 
his  duties  as  a clergyman  not  allowing  of  a long  absence,  but 
our  meeting  had  been  very  pleasant  and  cordial.  He  had  left 
with  us  his  sister  Annie,  to  whom  my  husband  endeavored  to 
show  what  was  most  worthy  of  attention  in  the  metropolis. 
And  just  as  we  were  thus  enjoying  our  fragrant  “cup  of 
coffee,”  the  “ pinch  of  salt  ” was  thrown  into  it  with  a heavy 
hand  — for  we  heard  from  Richard  that  he  was  lying  so  dan- 
gerously ill  that  he  could  not  move  in  bed.  He  had  only 
written  a few  words  in  pencil  to  let  us  know  that  the  doctor 
thought  our  presence  unnecessary,  because  the  danger  would 
be  past,  or  the  illness  prove  fatal,  before  we  could  arrive. 

Of  course  my  first  impulse  was  to  rush  to  my  poor  boy’s 
bedside ; but  what  was  to  become  of  Mary  — a girl  of  fifteen  — 
unused  to  English  ways,  and  speaking  English  still  imper- 
fectly? Perhaps  our  aunt,  who  was  to  leave  us  in  a few 
days,  would  stay  a little  longer,  though  the  approach  of 
Christmas  made  it  imperative  for  her  companion  to  get  back 
to  the  vicarage  as  soon  as  possible.  But  my  husband?  . . . 
Could  I think  of  leaving  him  a prey  to  this  terrible  anxiety, 
and  to  all  the  dangers  of  a return  of  the  old  nervous  attacks  ? 
I saw  how  he  dreaded  the  mere  possibility , though  he  never 
said  a word  to  influence  my  decision,  but  the  threatening 
insomnia  and  restlessness  had  already  made  their  appearance, 
and  warned  me  that  I ought  to  stay  near  him. 

I wrote  to  my  best  friend  in  Paris,  begging  her  to  send  her 
own  doctor  to  our  poor  boy,  and  to  let  me  know  the  whole 
truth  immediately.  The  answer  was  reassuring  — the  crisis 


MEMOIR. 


439 


was  past;  there  was  nothing  to  fear  now,  only  the  patient 
would  remain  weak  for  some  time,  and  would  require  great 
care.  His  friends  — particularly  one  of  them,  a student  of 
medicine  — had  nursed  him  intelligently  and  devotedly.  As 
soon  as  he  could  take  a little  food  my  friend  sent  him  deli- 
cacies and  old  wines,  and  when  he  could  bear  the  railway  he 
went  to  his  grandmother’s  to  await  our  return  home. 

We  breathed  again,  and  Aunt  Susan  and  Annie  left  us  com- 
paratively quiet  in  mind. 

My  husband  now  went  on  with  his  work  as  fast  as  possible, 
for  he  longed  to  see  his  younger  son  again.  When  his  notes 
for  the  “ Graphic  Arts  ” were  completed,  we  made  a round  of 
visits  to  take  leave  of  our  friends,  and  after  another  short 
stay  at  Knapdale,  where  we  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Mr. 
Lockyer,  and  another  very  pleasant  pilgrimage  to  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Palmer’s  hermitage,  we  set  off  for  Paris. 

Mr.  Seeley  wrote  shortly  after  our  arrival  in  the  French 
capital  about  several  matters  connected  with  the  “ Portfolio,” 
and  added : “ How  will  you  be  able  to  settle  down  again  in 
that  little  Autun?  You  will  feel  (as  Robert  Montgomery 
said  of  himself  in  Glasgow)  like  an  oak  in  a flower-pot.” 

No,  the  oak  liked  to  feel  the  pure  air  of  the  Morvan  hills 
blowing  about  its  head,  and  to  spread  its  branches  in  uncon- 
fined space.  It  was  in  great  crowded  cities  that  it  felt  the 
pressure  of  the  flower-pot. 

On  arriving  at  home  we  found  Richard  well  again,  and 
gifted  with  an  extraordinary  appetite  — which  was  the  restor- 
ative he  most  needed,  having  grown  very  thin  and  weak 
through  his  illness. 

My  husband  had  been  very  desirous  to  present  me  with  a 
souvenir  of  the  success  of  “ Etching  and  Etchers,”  and  pressed 
me  to  choose  a trinket,  either  a bracelet  or  a brooch;  but  I 
thought  what  I possessed  already  quite  sufficient,  and  though 
very  sensible  of  his  kind  thoughtfulness,  I said  that  if  he 
liked  to  make  me  a present,  I would  choose  something  use- 
ful, — a silk  dress,  for  instance.  “ But  that  would  not  be  a 
present,”  he  said;  “when  you  want  a dress  you  buy  it.  I 
should  like  to  offer  you  some  pretty  object  which  would  last.” 


440 


MEMOIR. 


I knew  that  he  liked  to  see  me  — and  ladies  in  general  — 
wearing  jewels;  not  in  great  quantity,  but  simply  as  a touch 
of  finish  to  the  toilette.  When  I was  young,  he  would  have 
liked  me  (had  it  been  possible)  to  dress  always  in  white,  and 
the  fashions  not  being  then  so  elaborate  as  they  have  become, 
it  was  easy  enough  in  summer-time  and  in  the  country  to 
indulge  his  taste.  So  in  warm  days  I often  wore  a white 
muslin  dress,  quite  plain,  relieved  only  by  a colored  sash.  If 
the  sash  happened  to  be  green,  he  liked  it  to  be  matched  by  a 
set  of  crystal  beads  of  the  same  color,  which  he  had  brought 
me  from  Switzerland  when  he  had  gone  there  with  his  aunt 
and  uncle.  When  the  ribbon  was  red,  I was  to  wear  corals, 
and  with  a blue  one  lapis-lazuli. 

At  last  he  remembered  that  I had  admired  some  plain  dead- 
gold  bracelets  of  English  make  that  we  had  been  looking  at 
together,  not  far  from  the  National  Gallery,  and  said  he 
would  be  glad  if  I would  choose  one  of  them.  I had,  how- 
ever, taken  the  same  resolution  about  jewels  as  his  own  about 
pictures,  and  that  was,  to  admire  what  was  beautiful,  but 
never  to  buy,  because  it  was  beyond  our  means.  The  resolu- 
tion, once  taken,  left  no  way  open  to  temptation.  Still,  I 
did  not  mean  to  deny  myself  the  pleasure  of  accepting  his 
proffered  present,  only  I did  not  want  it  to  be  expensive,  and 
since  I had  a sufficiency  of  jewels,  “ would  he  give  me  a 
pretty  casket  to  put  them  in?  ” “Yes,”  he  readily  assented. 
And  when  I opened  the  casket  of  fair  olive-wood,  with  the 
delicately  wrought  nickel  clasps  and  lock,  I found  a folded 
paper  laid  on  the  dark-blue  velvet  tray,  and  having  opened  it 
read  what  follows  — I need  not  say  with  what  emotions. 

“ Here  in  this  empty  casket,  instead  of  a diamond  or  pearl, 

Instead  of  a gem  I leave  but  a little  rhyme. 

She  remembers  the  brooch  and  the  bracelet  I gave  her  when  she  was  a 
girl, 

Deep  blue  from  beyond  the  sea,  not  paler  from  lapse  of  time. 

She  will  put  them  here  in  the  casket,  the  ultramarine  and  the  gold  ; 

And  if  such  a thing  might  be,  I would  give  them  to  her  twice  over ; 

Once  in  my  youthful  hope,  and  now  again  when  I ’m  old, 

But  alike  in  youth  or  in  age  with  the  heart  and  the  soul  of  a lover.” 

This  note  is  entered  in  the  diary : — 


MEMOIR. 


441 


“January  1,  1881.  Faceva  i miei  doni  alia  sposa,  alia  figlia,  al 
mio  figlio  Stefano.  La  sposa  era  felicissima  di  ricevere  la  sua 
cassetta.” 

Roberts  Brothers  had  heard  that  a new  book  was  in  prepa- 
ration, and  they  wrote  in  January,  1881:  — 

“ Your  third  edition  of  ‘ Etching  and  Etchers  * is  really  a mag- 
nificent specimen  of  book-making,  and  we  understand  two  hundred 
copies  have  been  sold  in  America.  At  all  events,  whatever  the 
number  sold , it  is  not  to  be  had.  We  should  like  to  have  the 
American  edition  of  the  ‘ Graphic  Arts,’  and  should  be  glad  to 
receive  the  novel  when  it  is  ready.’* 

But  the  novel  had  been  put  aside,  the  author  being  doubt- 
ful if  it  equalled  “ Marmorne  ” in  quality.  The  whole  of  his 
time  for  writing  was  devoted  to  the  “ Graphic  Arts,”  and  the 
remainder  to  painting  from  nature,  often  with  Mr.  Pickering, 
and  to  the  consideration  of  the  necessary  alterations  to  the 
boat  in  view  of  a summer  cruise  on  the  Saone.  The  reading 
of  Italian  was  resumed  pretty  regularly,  whilst  the  diary  was 
kept  in  that  language. 

Early  in  the  spring  Mr.  Seeley  wrote : — 

“ I am  afraid  it  is  indispensable  that  we  should  meet  in  Paris, 
as  the  selection  of  engravings  for  reproduction  is  very  important, 
though,  like  you,  I grudge  the  loss  of  time.  But  the  book  is  an 
important  one,  and  we  must  do  our  very  best  to  make  it  a 
success.” 

It  was  then  decided  that  my  husband  should  go  to  Paris 
with  Richard,  and  they  started  on  May  4,  stopped  a day  at 
Sens  to  see  the  cathedral  again,  and  to  call  upon  Madame 
Challard  (who  had  become  a widow),  and  arrived  in  Paris  at 
night. 

The  entries  in  the  note-book  (kept  in  Italian)  record  his 
visits  to  the  Salon,  to  the  Louvre,  and  to  various  public 
buildings.  Also  to  the  Bibliotheque,  to  study  the  works  of 
the  Ecole  de  Fontainebleau,  and  to  an  exhibition  of  paintings 
in  imitation  of  tapestry,  which  much  interested  him. 


442 


MEMOIR. 


He  also  went  with  Richard  to  see  Munkacsy’s  picture  of 
“ Christ  before  Pilate,”  and  notes  Richard's  astonishment  at 
it.  He  considered  it  himself  as  one  of  the  finest  of  existing 
pictures.  He  also  expresses  the  great  pleasure  he  derived 
from  Jacquemart’s  water-colors,  their  brilliancy  and  sureness 
of  execution. 

The  four  following  days  having  been  very  busy,  received 
only  this  short  note,  “In  Parigi  con  Seeley;”  then  the 
fifth  has,  “ Seeley  e partito  sta  mattina.” 

The  succeeding  entries  record  further  visits  to  the  Salon, 
the  Louvre,  and  Bibliotheque;  but  on  the  return  journey, 
at  Chagny  on  the  19th,  he  notes  that  he  has  received  sad 
news  of  the  death  of  M.  de  Saint  Victor,  in  a duel  with  M. 
Asselin.  It  was  only  too  true,  and  had  happened  on  a day 
which  was  to  have  been  a fete>  for  Madame  de  Saint  Victor, 
whose  daughter  went  to  the  same  school  as  ours,  had  invited 
both  myself  and  Mary,  with  a few  others  school-fellows  and 
their  mothers,  to  lunch  at  the  Chateau  de  Monjeu,  of  which 
her  husband  was  Regisseur.  The  unfortunate  lady  did  not 
know  what  had  passed  between  her  husband  and  a gentleman 
of  the  locality  who  was  trespassing  on  the  grounds  of  the 
chateau.  M.  de  Saint  Victor  considered  himself  insulted,  and 
challenged  M.  Asselin;  he,  moreover,  insisted  upon  choosing 
the  sword  as  a weapon  — the  most  dangerous  of  all  in  a serious 
duel  — and  on  the  morning  which  should  have  been  festive 
and  mirthful,  he  fell  dead  in  the  wood  near  his  home,  killed 
by  a sword-thrust  from  his  skilful  adversary. 

As  soon  as  he  was  back  home,  Mr.  Hamerton  set  to  work 
regularly  at  the  “ Graphic  Arts.”  In  the  diary  this  phrase  is 
repeated  like  a litany:  “Worked  with  great  pleasure  at  my 
book,  the  ‘ Graphic  Arts.’  ” But  at  the  same  time  there  is  a 
complaint  that  it  prevents  the  mind  from  being  happily  dis- 
posed for  artistic  work.  I have  already  said  how  difficult  it 
was  for  him  to  turn  from  one  kind  of  occupation  to  another. 
Here  is  a confirmation  of  this  fact:  — 

“ 1 lost  the  whole  of  the  day  in  attempting  to  make  a drawing 
for  an  etching.  Was  not  in  the  mood.  It  is  necessary  to  have  a 


MEMOIR. 


443 


certain  warmth  and  interest  in  a subject  — which  I have  lost,  but 
hope  to  recover.  For  a long  time  past  all  my  thoughts  have  turned 
upon  my  literary  work.” 

It  is  easy  for  readers  of  the  “ Graphic  Arts  ” to  realize 
what  an  amount  of  knowledge  and  preparation  such  a book 
required;  and  to  present  so  much  information  in  a palata- 
ble form  was  no  less  than  a feat.  Still,  the  author  took 
great  delight  in  his  work.  As  in  the  case  of  “ Etching  and 
Etchers,”  he  was  encouraged  by  the  publisher,  who  wrote  on 
June,  “I  mean  to  take  a pride  in  the  book.”  It  was 
exactly  the  sort  of  work  which  suited  him  — sufficiently 
important  to  allow  the  subjects  to  be  treated  at  length  when 
necessary,  and  worthy  of  the  infinite  care  and  thought  he 
liked  to  bestow  upon  his  studies.  In  this  case,  wonderful 
as  it  seems,  he  had  himself  practised  all  the  arts  of  which 
he  speaks,  with  the  exception  of  fresco.  As  to  the  other 
branches  of  art,  namely,  pen-and-ink,  silver-point,  lead- 
pencil,  sanguine,  chalk,  charcoal,  water  monochrome,  oil 
monochrome,  pastel,  painting  in  oil,  painting  in  water-colors, 
wood-engraving,  etching  and  dry-point,  aquatint  and  mezzo- 
tint, lithography,  he  had  — more  or  less  — tried  every  one  of 
them.  And  though  he  did  not  give  sufficient  practice  to  the 
burin  to  acquire  real  skill,  still  he  did  not  remain  satisfied 
till  he  could  use  it. 

The  same  feeling  of  conscientiousness  led  him  to  become 
acquainted  with  all  the  different  processes  of  reproduction  so 
much  in  vogue,  and  he  was  ever  anxious  to  learn  all  their 
technical  details. 

It  was  hoped  that  the  “ Graphic  Arts  ” might  be  published 
at  the  end  of  the  year,  and  in  order  to  be  ready,  the  author 
put  aside  all  other  work,  excepting  that  of  the  “ Portfolio;  ” 
but  he  longed  for  a short  holiday,  and  meant  to  take  it  on  the 
Saone.  He  went  to  Chalon  to  a boat-builder,  and  explained 
the  changes  to  be  made  in  the  “ Morvandelle,”  set  the  men  to 
work,  and  returned  to  his  book. 

He  had  begun  to  suffer  from  insomnia,  and  Mr.  Seeley 
wrote : — 


444 


MEMOIR. 


“ Probably  you  are  right  in  saying  that  yachting  is  a necessity 
for  you  ; but  for  the  enjoyment  of  it  you  are  badly  placed  at  Autun. 
You  must  look  after  that  cottage  at  Cowes,  which  I suggested  some 
time  ago ; and  we  must  set  up  a yacht  between  us ; only,  un- 
luckily, I am  always  seasick  in  a breeze.” 

Certainly  the  situation  of  Autun  was  not  favorable  to  yacht- 
ing,  the  streams  about  it  being  only  fit  for  canoeing;  but  the 
broad  Sadne  was  not  far  off,  and  as  Chalon  was  my  husband’s 
headquarters  when  cruising,  he  was  not  disinclined  to  the 
short  journey  which  afforded  an  opportunity  for  visiting  my 
mother  and  my  brother,  who  lived  there. 

My  husband  had  thought  that  a river  voyage  would  be 
charming  with  R.  L.  Stevenson  as  a companion,  and  that 
they  might,  perhaps,  produce  a work  in  collaboration,  so  he 
had  made  the  proposal,  and  here  is  part  of  the  answer : — 

“ Rinnaud  Cottage,  Pitlochry,  Perthshire. 

“My  dear  Mr.  Hammerton,  — (There  goes  the  second  M : it 
is  a certainty.)  Thank  you  for  your  prompt  and  kind  answer, 
little  as  I deserved  it,  though  I hope  to  show  you  I was  less  unde- 
serving than  I seemed.  But  just  might  I delete  two  words  in 
your  testimonial?  The  two  words  ‘ and  legal  ’ were  unfortunately 
winged  by  chance  against  my  weakest  spot,  and  would  go  far  to 
damn  me. 

“ It  was  not  my  bliss  that  I was  interested  in  when  I was  married ; 
it  was  a sort  of  marriage  in  extremis ; and  if  I am  where  I am,  it  is 
thanks  to  the  care  of  that  lady  who  married  me  when  I was  a mere 
complication  of  cough  and  bones,  much  fitter  for  an  emblem  of 
mortality  than  a bridegroom. 

“ I had  a fair  experience  of  that  kind  of  illness  when  all  the 
women  (God  bless  them !)  turn  round  upon  the  streets  and  look 
after  you  with  a look  that  is  only  too  kind  not  to  be  cruel.  I have 
had  nearly  two  years  of  more  or  less  prostration.  I have  done  no 
work  whatever  since  the  February  before  last,  until  quite  of  late. 
To  be  precise,  until  the  beginning  of  the  last  month,  exactly  two 
essays.  All  last  winter  I was  at  Davos ; and  indeed  I am  home 
here  just  now  against  the  doctor’s  orders,  and  must  soon  be 
back  again  to  that  unkindly  haunt  ‘ upon  the  mountains  visitant 
— there  goes  no  angel  there,  but  the  angel  of  death.’  The  deaths 
of  last  winter  are  still  sore  spots  to  me.  ...  So  you  see  I am  not 


MEMOIR. 


445 


very  likely  to  go  on  a ‘ wild  expedition,’  cis-Stygian  at  least.  The 
truth  is,  I am  scarce  justified  in  standing  for  the  chair,  though  I 
hope  you  will  not  mention  this ; and  yet  my  health  is  one  of  my 
reasons,  for  the  class  is  in  summer. 

“ I hope  this  statement  of  my  case  will  make  my  long  neglect 
appear  less  unkind.  It  was  certainly  not  because  I ever  forgot  you 
or  your  unwonted  kindness  ; and  it  was  not  because  I was  in  any 
sense  rioting  in  pleasures. 

“ I am  glad  to  hear  the  catamaran  is  on  her  legs  again ; you  have 
my  warmest  wishes  for  a good  cruise  down  the  Saone  : and  yet 
there  comes  some  envy  to  that  wish ; for  when  shall  I go  cruising? 
Here  a sheer  hulk,  alas ! lies  R.  L.  S.  But  I will  continue  to  hope 
for  a better  time,  canoes  that  will  sail  better  to  the  wind,  and  a 
river  grander  than  the  Sa6ne. 

“ I heard,  by  the  way,  in  a letter  of  counsel  from  a well-wisher, 
one  reason  of  my  town’s  absurdity  about  the  chair  of  Art : I fear 
it  is  characteristic  of  her  manners.  It  was  because  you  did  not 
call  upon  the  electors  ! 

“ Will  you  remember  me  to  Mrs.  Hamerton  and  your  son?  and 
believe  me,”  etc.,  etc. 

In  September  we  had  the  pleasure  of  a visit  from  Miss 
Betham-Edwards,  and  the  acquaintance  ripened  into  friend- 
ship. 

Having  brought  the  “ Graphic  Arts  ” satisfactorily  forward, 
my  husband  thought  that  he  might  indulge  in  the  longed- 
for  holiday  on  the  Sa6ne.  He  expected  to  find  everything 
ready  at  Chalon,  and  to  have  only  to  superintend  the  put- 
ting together  of  the  sections  of  the  boat.  He  was,  however, 
sorely  disappointed  on  finding  that  nothing  had  been  done, 
and  that  he  must  spend  several  days  in  pushing  the  workmen 
on,  instead  of  sailing  pleasantly  on  the  river.  After  a week 
of  worry  and  irritation  the  boat  was  launched,  and  the  two 
boys  having  joined  their  father  on  board,  they  went  together 
as  far  as  Toumus,  after  spending  the  first  night  at  Port 
d’Ouroux,  where  they  had  found  a nice  little  inn,  with 
simple  but  good  accommodation.  In  the  afternoon  Stephen 
went  back  to  Autun  to  fetch  his  things,  for  he  was  obliged  to 
be  at  his  post  on  the  first  of  October.  Richard  proceeded  with 
his  father  down  the  Saone  to  Macon.  The  diary  says:  — 


446 


MEMOIR. 


“Sept.  30.  A beautiful  voyage  it  was.  The  loveliest  weather, 
favorable  wind,  strong,  delightful  play  of  light  and  color  on 
water.  I had  not  enjoyed  such  boating  since  I left  Loch  Awe.” 

There  are  these  notes  in  the  diary : — 

“ Nov.  26.  Corrected  the  last  proof  of  the  ‘ Graphic  Arts,’  and 
sent  it  off  with  a new  finish,  as  the  other  seemed  too  abrupt. 
Spent  a good  deal  of  time  over  the  finish,  writing  it  twice.” 

“ Nov.  27.  Worked  all  day  as  hard  as  possible  at  index  to 
‘ Graphic  Arts,’  and  got  it  finished  at  midnight.” 

He  was  in  time,  but  Mr.  Seeley  wrote : — 

“ Now  Goupil’s  delay  [about  the  illustrations]  threatens  to  be- 
come most  serious.  We  have  now  orders  for  1050  copies,  large 
and  small,  so  we  have  already  surpassed  the  sale  of  ‘ Etching  and 
Etchers,’  third  edition.” 

Alas!  there  was  a very  distressing  item  of  news  in  the 
letter  dated  December  1 : — 

“ The  enclosed  letter  from  Goupil  is  a complete  upset.  It  seems 
that  the  printing  of  the  Louvre  drawings1  will  take  five  or  six 
months. 

“ We  must  decide  at  once  what  to  do.  This  is  one  plan.  If  we 
can  get  all  the  other  illustrations  ready,  then  to  publish  as  soon  as 
we  can,  putting  these  three  plates  in  the  large  paper  copies  only, 
and  in  the  others  a slip  of  paper  explaining  how  tedious  the  print- 
ing is,  and  promising  that  these  illustrations  shall  be  delivered  in 
the  spring  to  any  purchaser  who  produces  the  slip. 

“ This  is  one  plan.  If  you  prefer  it,  please  telegraph  Yes. 

“ The  other  plan  is  to  postpone  the  publication,  and  bring  out 
the  complete  book  in  the  spring.  If  you  prefer  this,  please  tele- 
graph No. 

“ 1 leave  the  matter  entirely  in  your  hands.  Pray  decide  as  you 
judge  best.” 

This  delay  was  most  provoking  after  the  hard  work  the 
author  had  given  to  the  book  to  have  it  out  in  good  time,  and 

1 Two  drawings  by  Zucchero  and  Watteau.  The  latter  was  in  black, 
red,  and  white  chalk.  The  reproduction  was  printed  from  one  plate,  the 
different  colored  inks  being  rubbed  in  by  the  printer.  Only  about  ten 
prints  could  be  taken  in  a day. 


MEMOIR . 


447 


also  because  the  orders  were  increasing;  they  had  now  reached 
315  copies  for  the  large  edition,  and  868  of  the  small  one. 
Still,  there  was  no  help  for  it,  and  the  publication  must  be 
postponed  rather  than  give  an  imperfect  book  to  the  public. 
Both  author  and  publisher  agreed  in  that  decision. 

On  December  17,  1881,  Mr.  Hamerton  received  the  follow- 
ing letter : — 


“19  Warwick  Crescent. 

“Dear  Mr.  Hamerton, — You  will  do  me  an  honor  indeed 
by  the  dedication  you  propose,  and  my  own  little  worthiness  to 
receive  it  becomes  of  secondary  importance  when  taken  with  the 
exceeding  importance  of  the  truth  you  insist  upon  in  connection 
with  it  — a truth  always  plain  to  me,  however  moderately  I may 
have  been  able  to  illustrate  its  value. 

“ Thank  you  very  much : you  will  add  to  my  obligation  by  the 
visit  you  so  kindly  promise. 

“ I return  you  the  best  of  Christmas  wishes,  and  am  ever,  dear 
Mr.  Hamerton, 

“Yours  most  truly, 

“Robert  Browning.” 

I transcribe  the  dedication  to  explain  Mr.  Browning’s 
letter. 


“To  Robert  Browning. 

“I  wish  to  dedicate  this  book  to  you  as  the  representative  of 
a class  which  ought  to  be  more  numerous,  — the  class  of  large- 
minded  persons  who  take  a lively  interest  in  arts  which  are  not 
specially  their  own.  No  one  who  had  not  carefully  observed  the 
narrowing  of  men’s  minds  by  specialities  could  believe  to  what  a 
degree  it  goes.  Instead  of  being  open,  as  yours  has  always  been, 
to  the  influences  of  literature,  in  the  largest  sense,  as  well  as  to 
the  influences  of  the  graphic  arts  and  music,  the  specialized  mind 
shuts  itself  up  in  its  own  pursuit  so  exclusively  that  it  does  not 
even  know  what  is  nearest  to  its  own  closed  doors.  We  meet 
with  scholars  who  take  no  more  account  of  the  graphic  arts 
than  if  they  did  not  exist,  and  with  painters  who  never  read; 
but  what  is  still  more  surprising,  is  the  complete  indifference  with 
which  an  art  can  be  regarded  by  men  who  know  and  practise  an- 
other not  widely  removed  from  it.  One  may  be  a painter  and  yet 


448 


MEMOIR. 


know  nothing  whatever  about  any  kind  of  engraving;  one  may 
be  a skilled  engraver,  and  yet  work  in  lifelong  misunderstanding 
of  the  rapid  arts.  If  the  specialists  who  devote  themselves  to  a 
single  study  had  more  of  your  interest  in  the  work  of  others,  they 
might  find,  as  you  have  done,  that  the  quality  which  may  be 
called  open-mindedness  is  far  from  being  an  impediment  to 
success,  even  in  the  highest  and  most  arduous  of  artistic  and 
intellectual  pursuits.” 

Mr.  Hamerton  was  so  adverse  to  puffing  of  any  kind  and  to 
noise  being  made  about  his  name,  that  he  neglected  the  most 
honest  means  of  having  it  brought  forward  to  public  notice; 
for  instance,  he  had  been  asked  in  November,  1881,  for  notes 
on  his  life  for  a book  to  be  entitled  “ The  Victorian  Era  of 
English  Literature,”  and  had  forgotten  all  about  it.  He  had  to 
be  reminded  in  1882  that  he  had  promised  to  send  the  notes. 

I suppose  that  the  following  letter  from  R.  L.  Stevenson 
must  have  been  received  about  this  time.  It  is  almost  impos- 
sible to  ascertain,  as  — like  the  others  — it  bears  no  date. 

“Villa  am  Stein,  Davos  Platz,  Grisons,  Switzerland. 

“ My  dear  Mr.  Hamerton,  — My  conscience  has  long  been 
smiting  me,  till  it  became  nearly  chronic.  My  excuses,  however, 
are  many  and  not  pleasant.  Almost  immediately  after  I last 
wrote  to  you,  I had  a hemorreage  (I  can’t  spell  it),  was  badly 
treated  by  a doctor  in  the  country,  and  have  been  a long  while 
picking  up  — still,  in  fact,  have  much  to  desire  on  that  side. 
Next,  as  soon  as  I got  here,  my  wife  took  ill;  she  is,  I fear, 
seriously  so;  and  this  combination  of  two  invalids  very  much 
depresses  both. 

“ I have  a volume  of  republished  essays  coming  out  with  Chatto 
and  Windus ; I wish  they  would  come,  that  my  wife  might  have 
the  reviews  to  divert  her.  Otherwise  my  news  is  nil.  I am  up 
here  in  a little  chalet,  on  the  borders  of  a pine-wood,  overlooking 
a great  part  of  the  Davos  Thai : a beautiful  scene  at  night,  with 
the  moon  upon  the  snowy  mountains  and  the  lights  warmly  shin- 
ing in  the  village.  J.  A.  Symonds  is  next  door  to  me,  just  at  the 
foot  of  my  Hill  Difficulty  (this  you  will  please  regard  as  the  House 
Beautiful),  and  his  society  is  my  great  stand-by. 

“ Did  you  see  I had  joined  the  band  of  the  rejected?  ‘ Hardly 
one  of  us,’  said  my  confreres  at  the  bar. 


MEMOIR. 


449 


“ I was  blamed  by  a common  friend  for  asking  yon  to  give  me 
a testimonial : in  the  circumstances  he  thought  it  was  indelicate. 
Lest,  by  some  calamity,  you  should  ever  have  felt  the  same  way, 
I must  say  in  two  words  how  the  matter  appeared  to  me.  That 
silly  story  of  the  election  altered  in  no  tittle  the  value  of  your 
testimony:  so  much  for  that.  On  the  other  hand,  it  led  me  to 
take  a quite  particular  pleasure  in  asking  you  to  give  it ; and  so 
much  for  the  other.  I trust  even  if  you  cannot  share  it,  you  will 
understand  my  view. 

“ I am  in  treaty  with  Bentley  for  a life  of  Hazlitt ; I hope  it  will 
not  fall  through,  as  I love  the  subject,  and  appear  to  have  found 
a publisher  who  loves  it  also.  That,  I think,  makes  things  more 
pleasant.  You  know  I am  a fervent  Hazlittite ; I mean,  regard- 
ing him  as  the  English  writer  who  has  had  the  scantiest  justice. 
Besides  which,  I am  anxious  to  write  biography;  really,  if  I 
understand  myself  in  quest  of  profit,  I think  it  must  be  good  to 
live  with  another  man  from  birth  to  death.  You  have  tried  it 
and  know. 

“How  has  the  cruising  gone?  Pray  remember  me  to  Mrs. 
Hamerton  and  your  son,  and  believe  me, 

“ Yours  very  sincerely, 

“Robert  Louis  Stevenson.” 

Throughout  this  year  the  diary  was  kept  in  Italian,  and 
the  reading  of  Italian  books  was  pretty  regularly  kept  up; 
among  them  were  Olanda,  Petrarch,  and  Ariosto.  He  soon 
abandoned  Petrarch,  whom  he  did  not  value  much;  here  is 
the  reason : ,“  I prefer  the  clear  movement  of  Ariosto  to  all 
the  conceits  of  the  sonnet-maker.” 

“Human  Intercourse”  was  begun,  and  to  save  time,  two 
copies  were  written  simultaneously  — one  for  England  and 
the  other  for  America  — by  inserting  a sheet  of  black  copying 
paper  between  two  sheets  of  thin  “ Field  and  Tuer  ” paper, 
and  writing  with  a hard  lead  pencil  and  sufficient  pressure  to 
obtain  a duplicate  on  the  page  placed  underneath.  Roberts 
Brothers  were  very  desirous  of  seeing  this  new  work , and  had 
written:  “We  should  like  to  make  ‘Human  Intercourse’ 
a companion  volume  to  the  ‘Intellectual  Life,’  and  the  title 
is  so  suggestive  of  something  good  that  we  hope  you  will 
hasten  the  good  time  of  its  appearance.” 

29 


450 


MEMOIR. 


The  publication  of  the  “ Graphic  Arts  ” had  been  fixed  for 
March  1,  but  a copy  having  been  got  ready  at  the  end  of 
January,  it  was  sent  as  a compliment  to  Mr.  Sagar  of  the 
Burnley  Mechanics’  Institution,  and  Mr.  Seeley  said:  “The 
Burnley  people  are  delighted  at  having  had  the  first  sight  of 
the  ‘Graphic  Arts.’  Mr.  Sagar  writes  that  from  what  he  saw  of 
it,  he  has  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  it  is  the  best  hook  you 
have  written,  and  does  great  credit  to  everybody  concerned 
in  its  production.” 

The  book  was  highly  appreciated  by  those  competent  to 
judge  and  understand  the  subjects.  Mr.  Haden  wrote  about 
it  a letter  of  fourteen  pages.  Though  he  calls  it  himself  “ an 
unconscionably  long  letter,”  it  is  most  interesting  throughout, 
but  I only  quote  a few  passages  from  it. 

“ I have  been  reading  the  ‘ Graphic  Arts  ’ with  great  interest. 
It  is,  or  rather  must  have  been,  a formidable  undertaking.  I like 
your  chapter  on  ‘ Useful  and  ^Esthetic  Drawing.’  Your  insistence 
on  keeping  the  two  things  separate,  and  claiming  for  each  its  value, 
is  a great  lesson  — read,  too,  just  at  the  right  time. 

“ And  in  your  ‘ Drawing  for  Artistic  Pleasure,’  the  great  lesson 
there  is,  that  true  artistic  pleasure  can  only  be  excited  in  others 
by  the  artist  that  knows  what  he  is  about,  though  he  does  not 
express  it.  Did  you  ever  see  a drawing  or  an  etching  by  Victor 
Hugo?  Hugo  is  a poet,  and  affects  to  be  an  artist.  But  his 
knowledge  of  what  is  or  should  be  organic,  in  every  picture,  is  so 
lamentably  absent,  that  his  poetry  (sought  to  be  imparted  in  that 
shape)  goes  for  nothing. 

“In  ‘Right  and  Wrong  in  Drawing,’  which  is  excellently 
written,  the  concluding  paragraph  is  admirable.  The  chapter 
on  ‘Etching  and  Dry-Point’  is  charmingly  written,  easy  and 
refined  in  diction,  and  set  down  con  amor  el1 

Then  came  this  letter  from  Mr.  Browning : — 

“19  Warwick  Crescent,  W.  March  6,  1882. 

“ Dear  Mr.  Hamerton,  — I thought  your  dedication  a great 
honor  to  me,  and  should  have  counted  it  such  had  it  simply  pref- 
aced a pamphlet.  To  connect  it  with  this  magnificent  book  is 
indeed  engraving  my  name  on  a jewel,  instead  of  stone  or  even 
marble. 


MEMOIR. 


451 


“ Your  sumptuous  present  reached  me  two  days  ago  — and  will 
be  consigned  to  ‘ my  library,’  when  the  best  jewel  I boast  of  is  dis- 
posed of  on  my  dressing-table  among  articles  proper  to  the  place : 
no,  indeed  — it  shall  be  encased  as  a jewel  should,  on  a desk  for 
all  to  see  how  the  author  has  chosen  to  illustrate  the  [painting-  and] 
drawing-room  of  the  author’s  admirer  and  (dares  he  add  ?)  friend, 

“Robert  Browning.” 

Mr.  Alfred  Hunt  also  wrote : “ I can  see  that  the  plan  of 
the  book  is  admirable.  I often  want  to  know  something 
about  art  processes  which  I don’t  practise  myself,  and  which 
I might  be  stimulated  into  trying  if  I was  only  younger.” 

The  sale  of  the  book  was  rapid,  and  before  six  weeks  had 
elapsed  so  few  copies  remained  that  the  prices  were  raised 
to  fifteen  guineas  for  the  large  edition,  and  to  seven  and  a 
half  guineas  for  the  small  one.  But  the  author  had  over- 
worked himself,  and  hurry  had  brought  back  the  old  enemy  — 
insomnia.  Mr.  Seeley,  who  had  lately  suffered  from  lumbago, 
wrote : — 

“ Sleeplessness  is  a far  worse  thing  than  lumbago.  You  are 
right  in  taking  it  seriously.  I have  little  doubt,  however,  that  by 
avoiding  overwork  — and  especially  hurried  work  — and  getting 
plenty  of  exercise,  you  will  overcome  the  tendency.  If  you  ever 
do  another  big  book,  we  must  take  two  or  three  years  for  it, 
and  have  no  sort  of  hurry.  I once  thought  of  the  ‘Landscape 
Painters  ’ as  a good  subject  for  a big  book.” 

In  a subsequent  letter  Mr.  Seeley  gives  a great  deal 
of  thoughtful  consideration  to  what  might  suit  his  friend’s 
requirements : — 

“ If  ‘ Landscape  Painting  ’ is  a subject  that  you  would  thoroughly 
like  to  take  up,  please  tell  me  what  travelling  you  would  consider 
needful,  and  as  far  as  expense  goes  I will  try  to  meet  you.  Perhaps 
for  one  thing  we  might  go  to  Italy  together,  if  you  are  not  afraid 
of  being  dragged  about  in  a chain. 

“ I thought  of  the  Rhone  book  again,  as  likely  to  suit  your  pres- 
ent state  of  health.” 

In  the  current  year,  however,  it  was  impossible  to  under- 


452 


MEMOIR. 


take  the  voyage,  because  “ Human  Intercourse  ” was  to  be  the 
important  work.  As  usual  with  a new  book,  the  author  had 
had  a struggle  at  the  beginning.  He  attributed  the  difficulty 
to  the  want  of  subdivisions  in  the  chapters,  and  when  he  had 
adopted  a more  elastic  system  than  is  usual  in  a treatise,  the 
obstacle  disappeared.  He  has  himself  explained  this,  more 
in  detail,  to  his  readers,  in  the  preface  of  the  book. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  this  long  struggle  had  increased  the 
tendency  to  sleeplessness,  and  a little  cruise  on  the  Saone  was 
thought  to  be  the  best  remedy.  So  he  left  for  Macon  at  the 
beginning  of  April,  and  after  putting  the  several  parts  of 
the  boat  together,  and  getting  provisions  on  board,  he  started 
with  Stephen  on  a voyage  down  the  Saone.  On  their  way 
they  could  see  with  a telescope  all  the  details  of  Mont  Blanc. 
At  Fort  d’Arciat  they  picked  up  a friend,  and  after  a “good 
little  repast  with  a Good  Friday  matelote  ” a few  sketches 
were  made  at  Thoissey  and  Beauregard. 

The  change  and  exercise  in  the  open  air  did  my  husband 
a great  deal  of  good,  and  he  had  regained  sleep  when  he 
returned  home. 

There  being  still  a good  deal  of  leakage  in  the  “ Morvan- 
delle,”  though  a thick  kind  of  flannel  had  been  pressed  into 
the  interstices,  it  was  decided  to  use  the  wooden  parts  to 
make  two  small  boats  for  the  pond,  one  for  Stephen  and  the 
other  for  Richard  the  old  ones  being  rotten.  There  was 
much  pleasurable  planning  for  my  husband  in  the  scheme, 
and  also  some  manual  work  for  rainy  weather.  He  was 
exceedingly  careful  and  handy  in  doing  joiner’s  work,  and 
every  one  in  the  house  applied  to  him  for  delicate  repairs, 
and  — when  he  had  time  — they  were  done  to  perfection ; 
only,  he  seldom  had  time,  and  it  was  a standing  joke  that  he 
must  have  a private  museum  somewhere  to  which  the  objects 
confided  to  him  found  their  way.  In  reality,  he  had  to  do  a 
good  deal  of  manual  labor  of  different  kinds,  on  account  of 
our  country  life,  which  placed  us  at  an  inconvenient  distance 
from  workmen.  For  instance,  he  always  framed  his  etchings 
and  engravings  himself ; at  one  time  he  even  undertook  to  re- 
gild all  the  frames  which  the  flies  so  rapidly  spoilt  in  the 


MEMOIR. 


453 


country.  He  had  also  to  make  numerous  packing-cases  and 
boxes  for  the  sending  of  plates,  pictures,  and  books;  he 
invented  lots  of  contrivances  for  the  arrangement  of  his  colors, 
brushes,  portfolios,  etc.  He  made  different  portable  easels 
with  folding  stools  corresponding  to  their  size,  for  working 
from  nature,  desks  for  large  books,  such  as  dictionaries,  to 
be  placed  by  the  side  of  his  arm-chair  when  he  was  reading; 
others  for  etchings  and  engravings,  so  that  they  might  be 
examined  without  fear  of  any  object  coming  in  contact  with 
them.  So  sensitive  was  he  to  the  way  in  which  works  of  art 
were  handled,  that  he  allowed  no  one  to  touch  his  prints  or 
illustrated  books;  he  was  always  in  dread  about  their  margins 
being  creased  or  crumpled,  and  to  avoid  this  possibility  he 
used  to  show  them  himself.  A well-known  aqua-fortist  told 
me  that  my  husband  had  said  to  him  once,  “ I would  not 
trust  you  to  handle  one  of  your  own  etchings.  ” 

Mr.  Seeley  had  suggested  that  some  illustrated  articles  about 
Autun  might  interest  the  readers  of  the  “ Portfolio  ” on 
account  of  the  Roman  and  mediaeval  remains,  the  remarkable 
cathedral,  and  the  picturesque  character  of  the  surrounding 
country.  He  thought  that,  as  a title,  “ An  Old  Burgundian 
City  ” would  do.  In  a former  letter  he  had  expressed  a wish 
that  his  editor  should  come  to  England  — if  possible  — every 
year  in  the  Spring,  instead  of  the  autumn,  when  it  was  too 
late  to  discuss  arrangements  for  the  " Portfolio  ” for  the  ensu- 
ing year.  Mr.  Hamerton  admitted  that  it  would  be  desira- 
ble, no  doubt,  but  he  could  not  afford  it;  the  expenses  of 
our  last  stay  had  been  a warning,  though  we  had  lived  as 
simply  as  possible.  To  these  considerations  Mr.  Seeley  had 
answered : “I  am  sorry  you  do  not  feel  more  happy  about 
your  future  work.  What  seems  to  be  wanting  is  some  public 
post  in  which  you  would  be  paid  for  studying.”  But  he  had 
had  more  than  enough  of  such  schemes  after  his  attempt  at 
Edinburgh,  and  it  was  the  only  one  he  was  ever  induced 
to  make.  He  began  at  once  the  pen-drawings  which  were 
to  illustrate  the  articles  on  Autun,  and  he  liked  his  work 
exceedingly. 


454 


MEMOIR. 


CHAPTER  XYI. 

1882-1884. 

“ Paris.”  — Miss  Susan  Hamerton’s  Death.  — Burnley  revisited.  — Helli- 
field  Peel.  — “ Landscape  ” planned.  — Voyage  to  Marseilles. 

In  May,  Richard  went  away  to  Paris  to  study  from  the 
antique  in  the  Louvre,  and  Mary  read  English  to  her  father 
for  an  hour  every  afternoon. 

In  the  summer  Mr.  Hamerton  received  the  decoration  and 
title  of  Officier  d’Academie,  but  so  little  did  he  care  for  public 
marks  of  distinction  that  the  fact  is  barely  mentioned  in  the 
diary. 

In  August  he  received  the  following  interesting  letter  from 
Mr.  Browning : — 

“Hotel  Virard,  St.  Pierre  de  Chartreuse  Is£re. 

“August  17,  1882. 

“ Dear  Mr.  Hamerton,  — When  I got,  a month  ago,  your  very 
pleasant  letter,  I felt  that,  full  as  it  was  of  influences  from  Autun, 
the  Saone  between  Chalon  and  Lyons,  speeded  by  ‘ 330  square  feet 
of  canvas,’  my  little  word  of  thanks  in  reply  would  never  get  well 
under  weigh  from  the  banks  of  our  sluggish  canal;  so  reserved 
launching  it  till  I should  reach  this  point  of  vantage : and  now, 
forth  with  it,  that,  wherever  it  may  find  you,  I may  assure  your 
kindness  that  it  would  indeed  have  gratified  me  to  see  you,  had 
circumstances  enabled  you  to  come  my  way ; and  that  the  amends 
you  promise  for  failing  to  do  so  will  be  duly  counted  upon ; tho’ 
whether  that  will  happen  at  Warwick  Crescent  is  unlikely  rather 
than  merely  uncertain  — since  the  Bill  which  is  to  abolish  my  house, 
among  many  more  notable  erections,  has  ‘ passed  the  Lords’  ’ a 
fortnight  ago,  and  I must  look  about  for  another  lodging  — much 
against  my  will.  I dropped  into  it  with  all  the  indifference 
possible,  some  twenty-one  years  ago  — meaning  to  slip  out  again 
soon  as  this  happened,  and  that  happened  — and  they  all  did  hap- 


MEMOIR. 


455 


pen,  and  yet  found  me  with  a sufficient  reason  for  staying  longer, 
till,  only  last  year  while  abroad,  the  extraordinary  thought  oc- 
curred — ‘ what  need  of  removing  at  all  ? 5 — to  which  was  no 
answer  : so  I took  certain  steps  toward  permanent  comfort,  which 
never  before  seemed  worth  taking  — and,  on  my  return,  was 
saluted  by  a notice  to  the  effect  that  a Railway  Company  wanted 
my  * House,  forecourt,  and  garden,’  and  wished  to  know  if  I ob- 
jected — I who,  a month  or  two  before,  had  painted  the  house  and 
improved  the  garden.  Go  I must  — but  I shall  endeavor  to  go 
somewhere  near,  and  your  visit,  if  you  pay  me  one,  will  begin  the 
good  associations  with  the  place.  And  this  place ; you  may  be 
acquainted  with  it,  not  unlikely.  It  is  a hamlet  on  a hilltop,  sur- 
rounded by  mountains  covered  with  fir  — being  the  ancient 
Cartusia  whence  our  neighbors  the  monks  took  their  name  ; the 
Great  Chartreuse  lies  close  by,  an  hour’s  walk  perhaps : this  ham- 
let is  in  their  district,  ‘ the  Desert,’  as  they  call  it ; their  walks  are 
confined  to  it,  and  you  meet  on  a certain  day  a procession  of  white- 
clothed  shavelings,  absolved  from  their  vow  of  silence,  and 
chattering  like  magpies,  while  vigorously  engaged  in  butterfly- 
hunting. We  have  not  a single  shop  in  the  whole  handful  of 
houses  — excepting  the  4 tabac  et  timbres  ’ establishment  — where 
jalap  and  lollipops  are  sold  likewise  — and  one  hovel,  the  owner  of 
which  calls  himself,  on  its  outside,  ‘ Cordonnier  * : yet  there  is  this 
4 Hotel  ’ and  an  auberge  or  two  — serving  to  house  travellers  who 
are  dismissed  from  the  Convent  at  times  inconvenient  for  reaching 
Grenoble  ; or  so  I suppose. 

“ The  beauty  and  quiet  of  the  scenery,  the  purity  of  the  air, 
the  variety  of  the  wild-flowers  — these  are  incomparable  in  our 
eyes  (those  of  my  sister  and  myself),  and  make  all  roughnesses 
smooth  : we  spent  five  weeks  here  last  season ; will  do  the  like  now, 
and  then  are  bound  for  Ischia,  where  a friend  entertains  us  for  a 
month  in  a seaside  villa  he  inhabits : afterwards  to  London,  with 
what  appetite  we  may,  though  London  has  its  abundant  worth  too. 
Utterly  peaceful  as  this  country  appears  — and  you  may  walk  in  its 
main  roads  for  hours  without  meeting  any  one  but  a herdsman  or 
wood-cutter  — I shall  tell  you  a little  experience  I have  had  of  its 
possibilities.  On  the  last  day  of  our  sojourn  last  year,  we  took  a 
final  look  at  and  leave  of  a valley,  a few  miles  off ; and  as  I stood 
thinking  of  the  utter  innocency  of  the  little  spot  and  its  surround- 
ings, the  odd  fancy  entered  my  head,  ‘ Suppose  you  discovered  a 
corpse  in  this  solitude,  would  you  think  it  your  duty  to  go  and  apprise 
the  authorities,  incurring  all  the  risks  and  certain  hindrance  to 


456 


MEMOIR. 


to-morrow’s  departure  which  such  an  act  entails  in  France  — or 
would  you  simply  hold  your  tongue  ? ’ And  I concluded,  ‘ I ought 
to  run  those  risks.’  Well,  that  night  a man  was  found  murdered, 
just  there  where  I had  been  looking  down,  and  the  owner  of  the 
field  was  at  once  arrested  and  shut  up  in  the  Mairie  of  the  village 
of  St.  Pierre  d’Entremont,  close  by.  The  victim  was  an  Italian 
mason,  had  received  seven  mortal  wounds,  and  lay  in  a potato-patch 
with  a sack  containing  potatoes : ‘ he  had  probably  been  caught 
stealing  these  by  the  owner,  who  had  killed  him,’  — so,  the  owner 
was  taken  into  custody.  We  heard  this  — and  were  inconven- 
ienced enough  by  it  next  day,  for  our  journey  was  delayed  by  the 
Judge  (d’Instruction)  from  Grenoble  possessing  himself  of  the  mule 
which  was  to  carry  our  luggage,  in  order  to  report  on  the  spot ; but 
we  got  away  at  last.  On  returning,  last  week,  I inquired  about  the 
result.  ‘ The  accused  man,  who  was  plainly  innocent,  being 
altogether  boulverse  by  the  charge  coming  upon  him  just  in  his 
distress  at  losing  a daughter  a fortnight  before,  had  taken  advan- 
tage of  the  negligence  of  the  gendarmes  to  throw  himself  from  the 
window.  He  survived  three  hours,  protesting  his  innocence  to  the 
last,  which  was  confirmed  by  good  evidence  : the  likelihood  being 
that  the  murder  had  been  committed  by  the  Italian’s  companions 
at  a little  distance,  and  the  body  carried  thro’  the  woods  and  laid 
there  to  divert  suspicions.’  Well  might  my  genius  warn  me  of  the 
danger  of  being  a victim’s  neighbor.  But  how  I have  victimized 
you,  if  you  have  borne  with  me  ! Forgive,  and  believe  me 
ever, 

“ Yours  truly, 

“ Robert  Browning.” 

Mr.  Seeley  had  thought  that  a series  of  articles  on  Paris 
might  be  suitable  for  the  “ Portfolio,”  if  they  were  written  by 
the  editor,  who  knew  the  beautiful  city  so  well,  and  accord- 
ingly my  husband  had  decided  to  go  there  for  a month,  in 
order  to  take  notes  and  to  choose  subjects  for  the  illustrations. 
He  never  could  have  been  reconciled  to  the  idea  of  remaining 
a month  in  Paris  alone,  and  I bethought  myself  of  a plan, 
which  seemed  both  economical  and  pleasant,  and  which  he 
readily  adopted.  It  was  to  take  Mary  with  us,  and  to  rent 
a small  apartment  in  our  quiet  Hotel  de  la  Muette ; having 
our  meals  prepared  in  our  private  kitchen  (for  each  apartment 
was  complete),  and  the  cleaning  done  with  the  help  of  a 


MEMOIR. 


457 


femme  de  menage.  It  would  be  a sort  of  life-at-home  on  a 
very  small  scale. 

The  apartments  were  like  English  lodgings  without  attend- 
ance. Moreover,  no  one  belonging  to  the  hotel,  not  even 
a servant,  had  a right  to  enter  the  apartments:  they  were 
entirely  private.  One  might  order  the  most  costly  repasts 
from  the  luxurious  restaurants  close  at  hand,  or  keep  a cordon 
bleu , or  live  on  bread-and- water  like  an  anchorite,  just  as 
one  pleased,  without  anybody  noticing  it.  This  liberty  was 
exactly  what  my  husband  liked. 

We  left  home  on  October  9 with  Richard,  who  was  to  con- 
tinue his  artistic  studies  in  England  now,  and  Mary,  whom 
her  father  wanted  to  become  acquainted  with  the  different 
museums,  beautiful  buildings,  and  treasures  of  art,  under 
his  direction,  for  which  there  could  have  been  no  better 
opportunity. 

We  all  looked  forward  to  this  change  as  to  a partie  de 
plaisir , the  young  people  especially,  and  on  our  arrival  in 
Paris,  M.  Mas  and  his  wife  received  us  with  great  cordiality. 
They  had  nothing  in  common  with  the  ordinary  type  of  hotel- 
keepers,  and  welcomed  their  habitues  with  a simple,  hearty 
friendliness  — such  as  servants,  who  had  been  all  their  lives 
in  a family,  might  show  to  their  masters  — which  pleased  my 
husband  much.  They  showed  us,  with  visible  satisfaction, 
our  little  apartment,  saying  that  it  had  been  reserved  for  us 
on  account  of  “ Mademoiselle,  ” because  her  room  would  be 
just  close  to  her  mamma’s,  and  the  door  leading  from  one  to 
the  other  might  be  left  open  at  night.  We  were  told  that 
the  kitchen  was  particularly  nice,  because  Monsieur  Paul 
Baudry,  “ un  artiste  aussi,”  had  fitted  it  up  “ a neuf  ” for  the 
three  months  he  had  been  spending  in  our  present  apartment. 
Early  in  the  morning  I went  out  to  order  provisions  — 
groceries,  fuel,  wine,  etc.,  for  the  month  we  were  to  remain 
at  the  hotel.  We  had  afterwards  an  excellent  and  cheerful 
dejeuner  prepared  in  our  own  kitchen.  My  husband  was 
amused  by  the  contrivances  of  what  he  called  “ the  doll’s 
house,”  and  said  he  did  not  mind  spending  a month  in  that 
way.  In  the  afternoon  we  went  with  the  children  to  see  the 


458 


MEMOIR. 


Hotel  de  Ville,  Notre  Dame,  and  La  Cour  de  Cassation:  in 
each  of  these  buildings  my  husband  gave  us  a short  explana- 
tory lesson  in  architecture. 

The  second  day  he  had  already  made  rules  for  the  division 
of  his  time,  according  to  which  the  mornings  would  he 
reserved  for  writing  and  correspondence ; dejeuner  was  to  be 
ready  at  eleven,  so  as  to  leave  the  afternoon  free  for  the  work 
in  Paris. 

As  on  the  previous  day,  we  were  breakfasting  together, 
talking  of  Richard’s  prospects  in  London,  when  there  came  a 
telegram,  saying  that  our  dear  Aunt  Susan  thought  herself  to 
be  sinking,  and  desired  to  see  us.  It  was  a sudden  and  a 
painful  blow;  my  husband  had  not  a moment  of  hesitation 
about  what  he  would  do.  He  told  us  to  pack  up  immedi- 
ately, whilst  he  went  to  look  at  the  rail  way -guide,  and  find 
the  first  slow  night-train  for  England:  Richard  and  Mary 
were  to  go  with  us  — it  would  be  a last  satisfaction  for  their 
aunt  if  we  arrived  in  time. 

I was  full  of  apprehension  for  my  husband,  but,  of  course, 
refrained  from  mentioning  my  fears. 

There  was  no  slow  train  after  four  o’clock,  so  we  had  to 
start  when  it  was  still  daylight,  but  he  kept  his  eyes  closed 
till  darkness  rendered  invisible  the  objects  we  passed  on  our 
way.  He  bore  the  journey  very  well  on  the  whole,  and  on 
reaching  Calais  we  went  on  board  the  steamer  immediately. 
It  was  midnight,  the  sea  was  splendidly  phosphorescent,  and 
Richard  and  Mary  took  great  delight  in  throwing  things  into 
it,  to  see  the  sparkles  flash  about.  I had  no  fear  so  long 
as  we  remained  on  the  water,  for  Gilbert  always  enjoyed  it, 
whatever  the  weather  might  be,  and  felt  utterly  free  from 
nervousness. 

Arrived  at  Dover  at  four  in  the  morning,  we  went  to  bed 
for  a little  rest,  and  after  breakfast  went  out  for  a walk  on 
the  seashore  under  the  cliffs.  Richard  had  never  seen  the 
sea  before,  and  he  received  a profound  impression  from  it. 
The  wind  was  high,  and  the  big  green,  crested  waves  came 
dashing  their  foam  on  to  the  very  rocks  at  our  feet.  The 
alternate  effects  of  sunshine  and  masses  of  clouds,  violently 


MEMOIR. 


459 


driven  and  torn  by  the  squalls,  were  magnificent;  and  Richard, 
more  than  ever,  was  fired  with  the  wish  to  become  a painter. 
His  sister,  very  sensitive  to  natural  beauty,  shared  his  en- 
thusiasm. 

The  train  for  London  started  at  three,  and  on  arriving  at 
Charing  Cross  we  found  a more  reassuring  telegram,  stating 
that  our  aunt  was  somewhat  better.  Thus  cheered  by  the 
hope  of  seeing  her  again,  Gilbert  was  able  to  eat  his  supper 
with  us  before  going  to  bed.  I was  greatly  alarmed  by  his 
decision  to  start  early  in  the  morning  and  to  travel  through- 
out the  day;  but  having  made  such  a sacrifice  of  money  in 
abandoning  our  apartment  and  provisions,  and  in  taking  the 
children  with  us  in  the  hope  of  giving  a last  satisfaction  to 
his  aunt,  I understood  that  he  would  on  no  account  run  the 
risk  of  arriving  too  late. 

It  proved  a most  painful  day  to  us  all.  Very  soon  he  gave 
signs  of  distress  and  nervousness  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts 
to  hide  them;  but  this  time  he  would  not  leave  the  train, 
though  I besought  him  to  do  so. 

We  had  some  provisions  in  our  bags,  but,  weak  as  he  felt, 
he  could  not  swallow  a morsel  of  anything ; he  could  not  even 
drink.  Still,  at  one  time  he  thought  that  a little  brandy 
might  do  him  good;  unfortunately  we  had  not  any  with  us, 
and  it  being  Sunday  all  the  refreshment-rooms  were  closed  on 
the  line.  He  strove  desperately  against  the  growing  cerebral 
excitement,  now  by  lying  down  at  full  length  on  the  cushions 
with  the  curtains  drawn,  and  his  eyes  closed  (most  mercifully 
we  were  alone  in  our  compartment);  now  by  stamping  his 
feet  in  the  narrow  space  and  rubbing  his  hands  vigorously  to 
bring  back  circulation.  In  these  alternate  fits  of  excitement 
and  prostration  we  reached  Doncaster  at  five.  Luckily  there 
was  a stoppage  of  about  forty  minutes  before  we  could  proceed 
to  Featherstone,  and  we  turned  it  to  the  best  advantage  by 
leaving  the  railway  station  and  going  in  search  of  a quiet 
hotel,  where  we  ordered  something  to  eat.  Darkness  had 
now  set  in.  We  had  had  a little  walk  out  of  sight  of  the 
railway,  in  the  open  air,  and  there  seemed  to  be  not  a soul, 
besides  ourselves  and  the  landlord,  in  the  hotel;  so  that  by 


460 


MEMOIR. 


the  time  our  dinner  made  its  appearance  my  husband  had  so 
far  recovered  that  he  was  able  to  take  both  food  and  drink, 
which  did  him  much  good. 

We  arrived  at  Featherstone  station  after  ten,  and  as  the 
time  of  our  arrival  had  been  uncertain,  there  was  nobody  to 
meet  us.  We  left  our  luggage,  and  only  taking  our  hand- 
bags, we  set  off  for  the  vicarage  on  foot  in  the  dark  and  in  a 
deluge  of  rain.  At  eleven  we  were  all  standing  by  the  bed 
of  our  dear  aunt,  who  knew  us  perfectly  in  spite  of  her  weak 
state,  and  whose  satisfaction  at  the  sight  of  Richard  and 
Mary  was  as  great  as  unhoped  for.  The  diary  says : “ Oct. 
15,  1882.  Our  poor  aunt  recognized  us,  hut  it  is  only  too 
plain  that  she  cannot  live  more  than  three  or  four  days.” 
The  doctor,  whom  we  saw  on  the  following  morning,  said 
that  Miss  Hamerton  was  dying  of  no  disease;  it  was  merely 
the  breaking  up  of  the  constitution.  She  was  kept  up  arti- 
ficially by  medicine  and  stimulants,  very  frequently  adminis- 
tered, for  which  she  had  neither  taste  nor  desire.  Now  she 
said  to  the  doctor : “ I have  been  very  submissive  because 
I wanted  to  retain  my  flickering  life  until  I should  see  my 
nephew  and  his  family ; this  great  happiness  has  been  granted 
to  me,  and  now  I only  desire  to  go  to  my  final  rest.”  After 
this  the  doctor’s  prescription  was  to  give  her  only  what  she 
might  ask  for.  We  remained  at  her  bedside  throughout  the 
day,  with  the  exception  of  a visit  to  the  old  church,  now 
restored  with  care  and  taste,  to  my  husband’s  satisfaction. 

We  watched  our  aunt  part  of  the  night,  and  she  spoke  very 
often,  with  her  usual  clearness  of  mind;  towards  three  in  the 
morning  our  cousins  Emma  and  Annie  came  to  relieve  us. 
On  the  morrow  there  was  a change  for  the  worse  with  greater 
weakness,  and  we  determined  — my  husband  and  myself  — to 
watch  all  night. 

Aunt  Susan  concerned  herself  about  our  comfort  to  the  last ; 
she  reminded  her  nephew  to  keep  up  a good  fire  that  I might 
not  get  cold ; she  insisted  upon  my  making  some  tea  for  my- 
self, and  upon  my  husband  having  a glass  of  beer.  About 
two  in  the  morning  she  asked  for  a little  champagne;  her 
mind  was  so  clear  that,  after  exchanging  a few  sentences  with 


MEMOIR. 


461 


her  nephew  in  the  Lancashire  dialect  and  drinking  her  small 
glass  of  champagne,  she  said  with  a smile,  “It’s  good 
sleek,”  and  lay  still  for  a while.  At  three  she  wanted  to 
he  turned  on  her  side,  which  my  husband  did  with  tender 
care,  happy  to  be  able  to  do  something  for  her  better  than 
any  one  else  could  do  it,  as  she  said.  I believe  she  liked  to 
feel  herself  in  his  arms.  Then  she  wished  Ben  to  come  up 
to  read  the  last  prayers.  I went  to  call  him,  also  Annie  and 
Emma,  Richard  and  Mary,  and  we  all  surrounded  her  bed 
whilst  Ben  was  reading  the  prayers  according  to  her  desire, 
and  my  husband  holding  one  of  her  hands  all  the  time.  She 
rested  her  eyes  upon  each  of  us  in  turn,  closed  them  never 
to  open  them  again,  and  breathed  more  and  more  feebly  till 
she  breathed  no  more.  It  was  five  o’clock  in  the  morning. 
Her  death  had  been  a peaceful  one,  without  a struggle,  with- 
out pain, — the  death  we  may  desire  for  all  that  we  love. 
Nevertheless,  it  proved  a sore  trial  for  my  husband,  who  was 
losing  the  oldest  affection  of  his  life.  It  was  even  more  se- 
vere than  such  losses  are  in  most  cases,  however  great  may 
have  been  the  affection,  for  it  was  like  complete  severance 
from  the  past  to  which  both  he  and  his  aunt  were  so  much 
attached.  When  they  were  together  the  reminiscences  of 
the  old  days  at  Hollins,  of  the  old  friends  and  relations,  of 
the  quaint  old  customs  still  prevailing  in  the  youthful  days 
of  the  Misses  Hamerton,  and  the  great  change  since,  were  fre- 
quent topics  of  conversation.  Aunt  Susan  was  extremely 
intelligent,  and  her  conversation  was  full  of  humor;  she  also 
wrote  capital  letters,  and  kept  her  nephew  au  courant  of  all 
that  happened  to  their  common  friends.  She  shared  in  his 
great  love  and  admiration  for  the  beauties  of  nature,  and  her 
enjoyment  of  them  was  intense.  When  walking  out  she  no- 
ticed all  the  changes  of  effect,  and  her  interest  never  palled. 

Great  respect  to  her  memory  was  manifested  by  the  inhabi- 
tants of  Featherstone , high  and  low,  who  filled  the  church  on 
the  day  of  the  funeral  and  on  the  following  Sunday,  and  who 
had  put  on  mourning  almost  without  exception. 

On  the  Sunday  night  my  husband  went  alone  to  the  ceme- 
tery by  moonlight,  and  remained  long  at  the  grave. 


462 


MEMOIR. 


Our  cousins,  Ben  and  Annie  Hinde,  both  showed  great 
sympathy,  and  were  also  sorrowful  on  their  own  account;  but 
Ben  thought  it  bad  for  Mary  and  Bichard  to  be  shut  up  in 
unrelieved  sadness,  and  was  so  kind  as  to  take  them  to  Leeds, 
Pontefract,  Wakefield,  and  York  in  turn. 

Aunt  Susan  had  left  a little  legacy  to  each  of  her  nephews 
and  nieces,  and  the  rest  of  her  savings  to  my  husband  (she 
had  not  the  disposition  of  the  capital,  which  had  been  left  in 
trust). 

She  had  carefully  prepared  and  addressed  little  parcels  of 
souvenirs  to  myself  and  to  each  of  my  children — jewels, 
seals,  silver  pencil-cases,  as  well  as  some  ancient  and  curious 
objects  which  had  been  preserved  as  relics  in  the  family,  and 
which  she  knew  we  should  value  and  respect. 

The  day  came  when  we  had  to  leave  our  dear  cousins  and 
the  old  vicarage,  so  full  of  associations  both  pleasant  and 
painful.  We  proceeded  towards  Burnley,  where  a telegram 
from  Mr.  Handsley  was  handed  to  my  husband  at  the  station. 
It  said  that  Mr.  Handsley  was  prevented  from  coming  him- 
self, but  that  his  carriage  was  in  readiness  to  take  us  to  Beed- 
ley  Lodge,  where  his  wife  was  awaiting  us. 

We  were  made  very  welcome,  and  Gilbert  was  happy  to 
see  his  friends  again  after  so  long  a separation.  Thursday  — 
our  former  servant  in  the  Highlands  — came  to  see  us  in  the 
evening,  and  our  children,  who  had  heard  a great  deal  about 
him,  were  glad  of  the  meeting. 

Mrs.  Handsley  was  a distant  relation  of  my  husband,  and 
the  relationship  had  always  been  acknowledged.  She  showed 
herself  eager  to  divine  how  her  guests  would  like  to  spend 
the  short  time  at  their  disposal,  and  to  fulfil  their  wishes. 
She  was  aware  of  my  husband’s  faithful  attachment  to  old 
associations,  both  with  persons  and  with  places,  and  she  drove 
us  to  see  his  former  friends  who  were  still  alive,  and  also  the 
Hollins.  The  children,  who  had  heard  so  much  about  it, 
were  greatly  interested,  particularly  in  the  room  which  had 
been  their  father’s  study.  Note  in  the  diary : “October  26, 
1882.  Went  to  see  the  Brun,  that  I had  not  seen  since  my 
marriage.  Drank  some  of  its  water.” 


MEMOIR. 


463 


Mrs.  Handsley  said  she  had  it  on  good  authority  that  Mr. 
John  Hamerton  of  Hellifield  Peel  had  expressed  on  several 
occasions  his  regret  for  the  division  existing  between  the  two 
branches  of  the  family,  and  his  wish  to  become  acquainted 
with  my  husband,  whose  works  he  knew  and  admired. 

Now  it  had  been  a lifelong  desire  of  his  to  visit  Hellifield 
Peel  — the  ancient  tower  with  the  romantic  history,  and  the 
seat  of  the  elder  branch  of  the  Hamertons.  There  could  be 
no  better  opportunity,  Mrs.  Handsley  suggested.  At  last  he 
decided  for  the  attempt,  and  on  the  following  morning  we  set 
out  with  the  children. 

It  was  Gilbert’s  intention  merely  to  send  his  card,  and  beg 
leave  to  see  the  tower  without  putting  forward  a claim  of  any 
kind,  hut  on  receipt  of  the  card  we  were  immediately  shown 
into  the  drawing-room  and  most  cordially  received  by  Mr. 
John  Hamerton  and  his  sister.  I was  at  once  struck — and 
so  were  Richard  and  Mary  — by  the  likeness  between  the 
two  men,  though  they  belonged  to  different  branches  of  the 
family.  My  husband  might  have  been  easily  taken  for  a 
younger  brother  of  Mr.  John  Hamerton.  They  were  both 
tall  and  spare,  the  elder  man  especially;  both  were  straight 
and  of  somewhat  proud  hearing;  their  eyes  were  blue,  with  a 
straightforward  and  fearless  expression.  The  lightness  of  the 
beard  and  hair,  „ together  with  the  development  of  the  fore- 
head, completed  the  resemblance,  though  the  whole  aspect  of 
Mr.  John  Hamerton  was  that  of  a country  gentleman,  whilst 
hard  intellectual  work  had  left  its  stamp  on  the  younger 
man’s  countenance.  They  got  on  very  amicably  together,  and 
we  were  invited  to  lunch.  My  husband  eagerly  desired  to 
go  over  the  house,  hut  alas  for  his  dreams!  it  had  been  trans- 
formed according  to  modern  wants,  and  the  absence  of  all 
relics  from  so  many  generations  was  very  striking. 

We  walked  in  the  park,  where  we  admired  the  noble  trees, 
the  pond,  and,  at  some  distance  from  the  Peel,  the  beautiful 
Ribble  valley,  the  subject  of  one  of  Turner’s  landscapes. 

It  was  now  time  to  go  to  our  train  after  our  long  and 
charming  visit;  and  when  Mr.  John  Hamerton  had  given 
some  photographs  of  Hellifield  Peel  to  my  husband,  and  we 


464 


MEMOIR. 


had  taken  a friendly  leave  of  his  sister,  he  accompanied  us  to 
the  station,  and  invited  us  to  the  Peel  whenever  we  might 
come  that  way. 

So  the  long  breach  in  the  family  now  belonged  to  the 
past,  and  was  replaced  by  mutual  goodwill  and  friendliness. 
Gilbert  wrote  in  his  diary : “ October  27,  1882.  One  of  the 
most  delightful  days  of  my  life.” 

The  day  after,  he  went  to  Burnley  with  Mr.  Handsley  and 
saw  the  new  school  before  going  to  the  Council  Chamber, 
where  a public  reception  had  been  organized  in  his  honor, 
and  where  he  delivered  an  oration  in  acknowledgment  of 
many  flattering  speeches.  The  formal  part  of  the  reception 
over,  he  shook  hands  with  every  one  who  came  forward  to 
speak  to  him  — among  whom  he  still  remembered  a few. 

The  afternoon  ended  with  a visit  to  the  Mechanics’  Insti- 
tution, in  which  he  had  never  ceased  to  take  great  interest. 
He  had  been  much  moved  and  gratified  by  the  welcome  offered 
him  at  Burnley,  and  never  forgot  it. 

The  journey  to  London  was  very  trying  on  account  of  the 
cold,  fog,  and  snow.  The  train  ploughed  its  way  slowly  and 
cautiously  amidst  the  explosive  signals,  which  did  not  add 
to  our  comfort.  We  felt  very  sorry  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Seeley, 
who  were  sitting  up  for  us  so  late  into  the  night. 

On  the  days  following  our  arrival,  my  husband  introduced 
Bichard  to  his  friends,  took  him  about  London,  and  chose 
lodgings  for  him. 

He  also  saw  Mr.  F.  G.  Stephens,  who  wished  him  to 
become  a candidate  for  the  post  of  Professor  of  Fine  Arts  at 
Oxford ; but  he  did  not  feel  tempted. 

He  called  upon  Mr.  Browning,  who  was  unfortunately  out; 
hut  as  he  was  on  the  point  of  closing  the  door,  he  felt  a resist- 
ance, and  saw  a lady  — “ the  sister  of  Bobert  Browning,”  she 
explained  — to  whom  his  card  had  been  handed,  and  who,  by 
mistake,  had  read  the  name  as  Hamilton.  It  was  only  after 
looking  at  it  more  attentively  that  she  had  rushed  down  the 
stairs  to  detain  the  visitor.  He  went  up  with  her  to  the 
drawing-room,  where  he  found  Mrs.  Orr,  the  sister  of  Sir 
Frederick  Leighton,  and  they  had  a long  and  pleasant  talk 


MEMOIR. 


465 


together.  Some  days  later  he  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
with  Mr.  Browning. 

It  was  lucky  that  Gilbert  had  good  health  just  then,  and 
Richard  to  go  about  with  him  in  London,  for  I was  laid  up 
with  a had  cold  — the  result  of  having  walked  a whole  day 
in  the  snow  making  calls,  without  an  opportunity  of  dry- 
ing my  boots  or  of  warming  my  feet.  Mrs.  Seeley  was  my 
kind  and  thoughtful  nurse,  and  thanks  to  her  care  I gradually 
recovered. 

Richard  came  to  say  good-bye,  and  we  left  Nutfield  House 
for  France.  This  time  we  did  not  go  through  Paris,  but 
visited  everything  of  interest  at  Rouen,  Dreux,  Orleans,  and 
Bourges.  The  diary  says:  “November  27.  In  the  evening 
we  reached  home,  very  happy  to  be  back  again.” 

On  the  29th  of  the  same  month  he  received  a letter  from 
Mr.  Sagar,  from  which  I quote  the  following  passage:  — 

“ Sufficient  time  has  not  yet  elapsed,  I hope,  for  you  to  forget 
us  in  Burnley  here,  and  the  pleasure  we  had  in  seeing  you  in  the 
Council  Chamber  on  that,  to  us,  memorable  Saturday. 

“ Next  year  will  be  the  fiftieth  anniversary  of  the  founding  of  the 
Institute,  and  we  are  going  to  celebrate  this  and  the  general  suc- 
cess we  have  had  by  a week’s  jubilee — the  whole  of  New  Year’s 
week.  The  jubilee  will  take  the  form  of  a conversazione,  a ban- 
quet, and  a general  exhibition,  occupying  every  room  of  the  place 
except  two.  South  Kensington  authorities  are  sending  us  six  cases 
of  examples  of  fabrics,  pottery,  etc.,  and  about  sixty  frames  of  pic- 
tures, drawings,  etc.  Can  you  use  your  influence  for  us  in  obtain- 
ing a representative  exhibition  — say  of  etchings,  or  anything  else 
of  a suitable  character  that  might  suggest  itself  to  you  — together, 
if  possible  (and  this  would  delight  us  all),  with  your  presence,  or  in 
the  absence  of  this,  if  you  can’t  be  here,  a short  letter  for  me  to 
read,  as  on  the  opening  of  the  Art-school  ? ” 

The  letter  was  sent  in  due  time,  and  acknowledged  with 
grateful  thanks. 

Mr.  Seeley  was  so  kind  as  to  send  us  news  of  Richard  from 
time  to  time;  he  wrote  in  March:  “Richard  has  shown  me 
some  of  his  drawings;  I think  he  is  making  progress.  One 
of  his  last  drawings  seemed  to  me  excellent;  very  tender 

30 


466 


MEMOIR. 


and  subtle.  He  was  down  at  Kinsgton  with  us  the  other 
day.  ” 

This  opinion  of  Mr.  Seeley’s  gave  great  pleasure  to  my 
husband,  who  had  always  entertained  doubts  about  the  range 
of  his  son’s  artistic  talent. 

In  the  same  month  he  was  asked  to  send  a biographical  note 
for  “ Men  of  the  Time,”  a proof  that  his  reputation  was  on  the 
increase,  and  Mr.  Haden,  who  had  just  come  back  from  America, 
said  that  his  works  were  held  there  in  the  highest  esteem. 

The  book  on  Paris  necessitated  another  journey,  and  my 
husband  made  the  time  of  it  to  coincide  with  the  opening  of 
the  Salon.  This  time  we  stopped  at  Auxerre,  and  visited 
the  four  churches,  the  museum,  and  the  room  in  which  are 
exhibited  the  relics  of  Marshal  Davoust. 

The  diary  says : “April  30.  Began  this  morning  another 
diary  in  English,  to  record  the  impressions  which  may  serve 
for  my  literary  work.” 

On  May  1 we  had  a carriage  accident  which  might  have 
been  serious.  Our  horse  took  fright  at  sight  of  a steam  tram, 
and  ran  away  on  the  footpath  at  a furious  rate,  dashing  the 
carriage  against  the  trees  and  lamp-posts  until  he  slipped  and 
fell  at  full  length  on  the  asphalt.  My  husband  had  been  able 
to  jump  out,  but  a sudden  jerk  had  prevented  me  from  follow- 
ing him  at  the  moment,  and  then  there  was  danger  of  being 
hurt  between  the  side  of  the  carriage  and  the  banging  door. 
Gilbert  had  been  running,  hatless,  after  the  carriage  to  hold 
the  door  and  enable  me  to  jump  out,  and  he  just  succeeded  as 
the  horse  slipped  down  and  upset  the  carriage.  I was  out  in 
time  to  escape  being  hurt,  but  of  course  we  were  both  a good 
deal  shaken,  and  went  back  to  rest  at  our  hotel. 

We  had  hardly  been  a week  in  Paris  when  my  husband 
began  to  suffer  from  nervousness.  A tramway  had  been  laid 
in  front  of  the  hotel,  and  the  vibration  prevented  him  from 
sleeping.  Then  spring  was  always  trying  to  him;  and  above 
all,  he  wished  himself  in  the  country.  Mr.  Seeley  wrote: 
“Nature  evidently  intended  you  for  a savage;  how  in  the 
world  did  you  come  to  be  a literary  man?  What  must 
Frenchmen  think  of  you,  in  Paris  and  miserable?  Even 


MEMOIR. 


467 


Mrs.  Hamerton  must  feel  ashamed  of  you.”  He  acknowl- 
edged that  he  was  more  happy  in  a primitive  sort  of  existence 
than  in  one  too  perfectly  civilized ; still,  he  could  not  endure 
the  privation  of  hooks,  and  he  would  have  felt  keenly  the 
absence  of  works  of  art;  but  he  was  in  deeper  sympathy  with 
the  beauty  of  nature  than  with  artistic  beauty  — to  be  denied 
the  last  would  have  been  a great  privation,  but  in  the  absence 
of  the  first  he  really  could  not  live. 

We  had  the  pleasure  of  becoming  acquainted  with  Mr. 
Howard-Tripp,  who  had  recently  married  Mr.  Wyld’s  daugh- 
ter, and  who,  being  a picture-dealer,  invited  us  to  go  and 
see  his  gallery  in  the  Rue  St.  Georges.  There  were  a great 
many  fine  works  that  my  husband  greatly  admired,  particu- 
larly those  by  Corot,  Daubigny,  and  Troy  on,  and  the  scheme 
for  the  book  on  “ Landscape  ” having  been  settled  with  Mr. 
Seeley,  he  begged  Mr.  Howard-Tripp  to  allow  reproductions 
of  some  of  the  pictures  to  appear  in  his  future  work.  It  was 
readily  granted. 

This  selection  of  pictures  for  the  book  on  “ Landscape  ” 
gave  the  author  much  additional  labor;  but  it  was  better  to 
do  it  now  that  he  was  in  Paris  than  have  to  come  again  on 
purpose.  Mr.  Seeley  had  offered  to  run  over  and  help  with 
the  arrangements,  but  was  prevented  by  a slight  accident. 
He  then  proposed  that  photographs  of  the  pictures  chosen 
should  be  sent  to  him,  that  he  might  have  a vote. 

We  were  very  near  the  end  of  our  stay  in  Paris,  and 
Gilbert  wanted  to  go  to  the  office  of  “L’Art,”  having  some 
business  there,  and  wishing  to  say  farewell  to  the  manager. 
He  had  also  invited  the  sons  of  M.  Schmitt  (who  were  now 
in  Paris)  to  meet  us  in  the  Square  Richelieu  and  to  dine 
afterwards  at  a restaurant.  He  thought  that  he  could  manage 
both  things  on  the  same  day.  However,  we  were  hardly  out 
of  the  omnibus  when  I perceived  he  was  unwell ; but  I had 
not  time  to  propose  anything  before  he  started  off  at  such  a 
rate  that  I was  obliged  to  run  to  follow  him : the  worst  symp- 
toms were  betrayed  by  his  gait,  by  the  congestion  of  face  and 
neck,  and  by  the  hard  stare  of  the  eyes.  It  was  too  late  to 
take  a carriage;  he  could  not  stop,  and  could  not  be  spoken 


468 


MEMOIR . 


to.  I saw  that  a sure  instinct  was  guiding  him  out  of  the 
crowded  street  to  the  by-ways  and  least  frequented  places, 
and  I strove  to  remain  by  his  side.  In  the  course  of  about 
twenty  minutes,  I noticed  a slackening  in  his  pace,  and  as  I 
had  been  looking  about  for  some  refuge,  I remarked,  through 
the  open  doors  of  a small  cafe,  an  empty  back-room,  and 
motioned  to  him  to  follow  me  there.  It  was  almost  dark, 
and  there  was  a divan  running  along  three  sides  of  the  wall ; 
I made  him  lie  down  upon  it,  and  went  to  tell  the  dame-de- 
comptoir  (who  happened  to  be  the  mistress  of  the  house)  that 
my  husband  had  felt  suddenly  unwell  and  required  a little 
rest.  She  made  no  fuss,  did  not  press  me  to  send  for  a doctor 
or  to  administer  anything;  she  merely  promised  to  prevent 
any  one  from  going  into  that  back  room,  and  said  we  might 
remain  there  undisturbed  as  long  as  was  needed.  After  half- 
an-hour  my  husband  asked  for  a little  brandy  and  water,  and 
gradually  became  himself  again.  We  remained  about  two 
hours  in  the  little  room,  reading  — or  pretending  to  read  — 
the  newspapers,  and  such  was  Gilbert’s  courage  and  resolu- 
tion, that  he  went  to  keep  the  appointment  with  the  young 
men  he  had  invited.  I knew  I was  not  to  breathe  a word  of 
what  had  happened,  and  I was  miserably  anxious  about  the 
effect  that  a dinner  in  a restaurant  en  vogue  might  have  upon 
the  nerves  of  my  poor  patient.  Strange  to  say,  he  bore  it 
very  well,  and  played  his  part  as  entertainer  quite  merrily. 
But  after  dinner  I longed  to  get  him  away,  and  proposed  to 
take  an  open  carriage  for  a drive  in  the  Champs  Elysees. 
This  was  accepted,  and  I believe  he  really  enjoyed  it. 

We  agreed  to  leave  Paris  the  following  evening,  and  I 
went  to  town  alone  in  the  afternoon  for  a few  things  which 
had  been  postponed  to  the  last  moment.  We  reached  Autun 
on  May  26,  at  which  date  the  diary  says:  “ I am  very  happy 
to  be  in  my  home,  which  I prefer  to  all  the  finest  palaces  in 
Paris.” 

In  the  spring  be  had  suffered  repeatedly  from  great  pain 
in  one  of  his  legs,  and  had  attributed  it  to  rheumatism;  now 
he  began  to  feel  the  pain  again  in  the  left  foot,  and  it  soon 
became  so  acute  that  the  doctor  was  sent  for.  He  said  it  was 


MEMOIR. 


469 


an  attack  of  gout,  but  gave  hope  of  an  ultimate  cure,  because 
the  patient’s  constitution  was  not  a gouty  one.  The  cause 
of  the  attack  was  insufficient  exercise  in  the  open  air.  He 
prescribed  a severe  regimen,  less  sedentary  work,  and  as  much 
walking  and  riding  as  possible. 

For  twenty-one  nights  my  husband  could  not  go  to  bed, 
but  remained  stretched  on  a couch  or  sitting  in  an  arm-chair ; 
when  the  pain  was  less  severe  he  laid  himself  down  upon  the 
bed  for  a short  time,  but  he  hardly  ever  got  to  sleep.  His 
fortitude  and  patience  were  incredible,  and  he  bore  the  almost 
intolerable  sufferings  with  admirable  resignation.  He  tried 
to  read,  and  even  to  write  upon  a desk  placed  on  his  knees, 
and  talked  much  about  his  plan  for  the  book  on  “ Landscape.” 

Mr.  Seeley  wrote : — 

“ I am  heartily  sorry  to  hear  of  your  attack  of  gout.  But  I am 
relieved  to  hear  that  it  is  not  erysipelas,  which  must  have  been 
alarming.  Possibly  the  discomfort  you  suffered  in  Paris  may  have 
been  a premonitory  symptom  of  this  attack,  and  you  may  look 
forward  to  the  enjoyment  of  better  health  when  it  has  passed 
away.” 

Mr.  Haden  declared  that  he  felt  “ delighted”  by  this  attack, 
as  indicative  of  a change  for  the  better  in  the  constitution ; he 
hoped  that  the  tendency  to  nervousness  and  insomnia  would 
disappear,  or  at  any  rate  greatly  diminish. 

We  were  now  daily  expecting  Richard,  and  Mr.  Seeley  had 
said  on  June  25:  “Richard  was  with  us  on  Saturday,  his 
farewell  visit.  We  like  him  more  and  more  every  time  we 
see  him.”  He  was  coming  back  — at  my  request — to  pass  an 
examination  in  English,  the  same  that  his  brother  had  passed 
successfully  two  years  ago  for  the  Certificat  d' aptitude,  after 
which  he  got  his  post  of  professor  at  M&con.  I had  thought 
that  if  Richard  failed  as  an  artist  he  might  be  glad  to  fall 
back  upon  a professorship,  and  it  turned  out  so.  His  father 
was  pleased  to  notice  how  much  better  and  more  fluently  he 
spoke  English  on  his  return  from  London ; but  at  the  same 
time,  after  seeing  the  drawings  done  in  England,  he  was  con- 
firmed in  the  opinion  that  originality  and  invention  were 


470 


MEMOIR. 


lacking  to  make  a real  artist  of  his  younger  son.  What  ought 
to  be  said  was  very  perplexing:  the  drawings  were  good 
enough  in  their  way,  the  progress  undeniable — but  they  were 
only  copies,  even  when  done  from  the  living  model  — the 
creative  spark,  the  individual  artistic  stamp,  were  absent. 
My  husband  allowed  himself  some  time  for  consideration 
before  warning  Richard  that  he  thought  him  mistaken  in  his 
choice  of  a career. 

However,  after  having  passed  a successful  examination  it 
was  Richard  who,  of  his  own  accord,  told  his  father  that  he 
felt  very  doubtful  about  the  ultimate  result  of  his  artistic 
studies.  He  believed  they  were  begun  too  late,  and  that  his 
chances  against  students  who  had  several  years’  start  were 
very  small  — they  had  been  drawing  and  painting  since  the 
age  of  thirteen  or  fourteen,  whilst  he  was  preparing  himself 
for  his  degrees.  The  ease  with  which  he  had  carried  off  the 
Certificat  d'aptitude  made  him  sanguine  about  being  ready 
for  the  Agregation  in  the  course  of  a year,  after  which  he 
would  be  entitled  to  a post  in  the  University.  He  would  not 
abandon  art,  he  said,  but  would  not  follow  it  as  a profession. 

It  was  a great  relief  that  the  resolution  should  have  been 
his  own;  but  it  surprised  Mr.  Seeley  considerably,  and  he 
wrote  to  my  husband : — 

“ From  what  you  tell  me  of  his  want  of  enjoyment  in  the  prac- 
tice of  art,  the  determination  seems  wise.  I suppose  we  take  it  for 
granted  that  a man  must  take  pleasure  in  doing  whatever  he  can 
do  well ; but  there  is  no  reason  in  the  world  why  ability  and  in- 
clination should  always  go  together.  A man  with  a good  eye  and 
that  general  ability  and  power  of  application  which  make  a good 
student  may  easily  be  a draughtsman  above  the  average,  but  it  is 
quite  intelligible  that  he  should  take  more  pleasure  in  other 
studies.” 

At  the  end  of  August  Gilbert  went  with  Stephen  and  his 
eldest  nephew,  Maurice  Pelletier,  for  a cruise  of  ten  days  on 
the  Saone.  They  were  on  the  new  catamaran  “ L’Arar,”  and 
enjoyed  their  voyage  thoroughly. 

On  October  2,  Richard  left  us  to  go  to  Paris  to  have  the 


MEMOIR. 


471 


benefit  of  les  Cours  de  la  Sorbonne , as  a preparation  for 
L’Agregation  d' Anglais  ; and  in  December  Stephen  asked  for 
a year’s  leave  of  absence  from  his  post,  in  order  to  pursue  his 
English  studies  in  London.  It  is  therefore  conceivable  that 
the  father’s  health  should  have  been  impaired  by  anxiety  and 
his  brain  overtaxed  by  the  numerous  works  he  had  undertaken 
to  meet  his  responsibilities.  He  was  at  the  same  time  writ- 
ing “Human  Intercourse”  for  Messrs.  Macmillan,  “Paris” 
for  the  “ Portfolio,”  and  the  book  on  “ Landscape  ” was  begun. 

In  November  he  had  written  a very  long  letter  to  Miss 
Betham-Ed wards,  mainly  in  explanation  of  the  word  “ sheer  ” 
used  for  boats,  then  about  our  doings,  and  he  says:  — 

“We  have  had  the  house  upset  by  workpeople,  but  we  are 
settled  again  after  a great  bother,  which  I dreaded  before,  as 
Montaigne  used  to  dread  similar  disturbances  ; but  now  it  is  over 
I feel  myself  much  more  comfortable  and  orderly,  though  the  re- 
form has  cost  me  a considerable  loss  of  time.  The  rooms  look 
prettier  and  are  less  crammed. 

“ I got  the  other  day  a letter  of  twenty  pages  from  a cousin  in 
New  Zealand  who  had  never  written  to  me  for  thirty  years.  It 
was  the  most  interesting  biography  of  struggle,  adventure,  danger, 
hard  work,  and  final  success.  It  is  a great  pity  that  the  men  who 
go  through  such  lives  have  not  the  literary  talent  to  make  auto- 
biographies that  can  be  published.  I have  another  cousin  whose 
history  is  quite  as  good  as  ‘ Robinson  Crusoe,’  and  I have  engaged 
him  to  write  it,  but  he  never  will.  If  I lived  near  him  I could  grad- 
ually get  the  material  out  of  him ; but  at  a distance  I cannot  get 
him  even  to  write  rough  notes.  On  the  other  hand,  we  literary 
people  are  quite  humdrum  people  in  our  ways  of  life,  and  our 
autobiographies  would  generally  be  of  little  interest. 

“I  have  been  reading  Ariosto  lately  in  Italian,  and  am  struck 
both  by  his  qualities  and  deficiencies.  He  is  all  on  the  surface ; 
but  what  a wealth  of  inventive  power,  and  what  a well-sustained, 
unflagging  energy  and  cheerfulness ! The  descriptions  are  fre- 
quently superb,  and  there  is  a go  in  the  style  generally  that  is  very 
stimulating.  It  is  like  watching  the  flow  of  a bright,  rapid,  brim- 
ming river.  I don’t  think  we  have  any  English  poet  of  the  same 
kind.  Spenser  is  rather  like,  but  heavier,  and  just  lacking  that 
brightness  in  combination  with  movement.  Spenser  and  Byron 
together  contain  many  of  the  qualities  of  Ariosto.” 


472 


MEMOIR. 


The  first  note  in  the  diary  for  1884  says : u I must  try  to 
economize  time  in  all  little  things  where  economy  is  possible 
without  injury  to  the  quality  of  work.  I cannot  economize 
it  very  much  in  the  work  itself  without  risk  of  lowering 
quality.” 

It  was  a pleasure  for  my  husband  to  see  that  his  articles  / 
on  the  architecture  of  Paris  had  been  so  favorably  noticed  as 
to  bring  requests  for  contributions  from  “ The  Builder  ” and 
“ L’Architecte.”  Mr.  Seeley  wrote  to  him:  “I  think  it  is  a 
feather  in  your  cap  that  your  architectural  notes  should  have 
brought  you  invitations  to  write  for  professional  journals.” 

My  brother-in-law,  M.  Pelletier,  had  left  Algiers,  and  was 
now  ficonome  at  the  Lycee  at  Marseilles.  He  had  suggested 
that,  it  being  possible  to  go  from  Chalon  to  Marseilles  by 
water,  we  might  pay  him  a visit  and  see  the  course  of  the 
Phone  at  the  same  time.  My  husband  felt  greatly  tempted 
to  accept,  for  more  than  one  reason : he  would  be  able  at  the 
same  time  to  take  notes  and  to  make  observations  on  the  way 
for  the  book  on  “Landscape,”  and  to  come  to  a conclusion 
about  the  possibility  of  the  Rhone  scheme.  We  might  divide 
the  places  of  interest  into  two  series,  and  see  one  of  them  in 
going  and  the  other  in  coming  back,  with  a pleasant  time  of 
rest  at  our  friend’s  in  the  interval. 

The  itinerary  was  carefully  prepared  to  miss  nothing  on 
the  way,  and  on  April  8 we  left  my  mother  in  charge  of  the 
house,  whilst  my  husband,  myself,  and  Mary  started  from 
Chalon,  where  we  went  on  board  the  steamer  for  Macon.  My 
husband  having  often  seen  the  town,  was  left  to  his  writing 
whilst  I took  Mary  to  see  the  church  of  Brou.  From  Macon 
to  Lyons  we  enjoyed  the  landscape  from  the  deck  of  the 
steamer,  particularly  Trevoux,  and  L’lle  Bar  be  as  we  neared 
Lyons. 

Note  in  the  diary:  “We  passed  through  some  lovely 
scenery,  but  I came  to  the  conclusion  never  to  boat  with  the 
‘Arar  7 below  Courzon.” 

So  long  as  he  remained  on  the  water  or  in  little  out-of- 
the-way  places,  Gilbert  was  well  enough  and  enjoyed  himself 
exceedingly,  but  as  soon  as  we  were  obliged  to  stay  in  large 


MEMOIR. 


473 


towns  he  began  to  suffer;  at  Lyons,  having  attempted  to  go 
to  the  Museum  when  it  was  crowded,  he  had  to  hurry  out, 
and  it  is  a miracle  how  he  managed  to  reach  the  hotel,  where 
he  went  through  one  of  the  worst  attacks  of  nervousness  in 
his  life.  It  did  not  last  very  long,  and  when  he  was  well 
again  I took  Mary  to  Fourvieres. 

By  rail  we  proceeded  to  Vienne,  then  to  Valence  and  Pierre- 
latte,  where  it  was  pitch  dark  as  we  got  out,  and  raining 
heavily.  To  our  dismay  we  saw  no  sign  of  either  omnibus 
or  carriage.  However,  a man  was  coming  up  to  us  in  a 
leisurely  way  with  a broken  lantern,  and  he  explained  that 
the  “ ’bus  had  not  come  because  it  was  raining.”  He  led  us 
to  a very  queer  — apparently  deserted  — hotel , where  the  get- 
ting of  sheets  for  the  narrow  beds  seemed  to  be  an  almost 
insurmountable  difficulty;  and  as  to  cases  for  the  pillows,  in 
sheer  despair  of  ever  getting  any,  we  had  to  use  clean  towels 
out  of  our  hags  in  their  stead.  The  double-bedded  room  was 
adorned  with  a gallery  of  pastel  portraits  so  wan  and  faded 
that  they  looked  by  the  faint  gleam  of  moonlight  through  the 
shutters  like  a procession  of  ghosts;  and  there  were  so  many 
chairs  in  Mary’s  room,  and  such  an  immensely  long  table, 
that  it  must  surely  have  been  used  by  the  ghosts  as  a dining- 
hall.  Nevertheless,  we  slept  soundly,  had  a charming  excur- 
sion in  the  morning,  and  a good,  though  late,  dejeuner 
afterwards,  for  it  chanced  to  be  the  drawing  of  lots  for  the 
conscription,  and  the  hotel  was  crowded  by  famished  officials 
— Mayor,  adjoints , gendarmes,  officers,  etc.  Of  course  there 
was  nothing  for  unofficial  people  like  us  hut  to  wait  and  catch 
the  dishes  as  they  left  the  important  table,  and  appropriate 
what  might  remain  upon  them.  There  was  enough  for  us, 
and  the  wine  was  excellent,  — so  good  indeed  that  we  thought 
of  having  a cask  sent  to  La  Tuilerie.  The  great  people  hav- 
ing departed,  we  were  able  to  talk  at  our  leisure  with  the 
landlady,  but  all  of  a sudden  we  became  aware  that  it  was 
getting  time  to  go,  and  asked  for  the  bill.  “Oh!  there  was 
no  need  for  a hill,  she  could  reckon  in  her  head  — hut  there 
was  no  hurry.”  We  explained  that  there  was  some  hurry,  as 
the  carriage  we  had  ordered  would  be  at  the  door  presently. 


474 


MEMOIR. 


“ Mais  pourquoi  1 pourquoi  vous  en  aller  ? ” exclaimed  the 
simple  woman,  with  an  air  of  consternation ; “ est-ce  que  vous 
n’6tes  pas  bien  ici  ? ” 

Bourg  St.  Andeol,  where  we  stopped  next,  is  a very  inter- 
esting place.  My  husband  was  particularly  pleased  with  the 
little  town  and  the  Hotel  Nicolai.  Our  arrival  created  quite 
a stir  in  the  sleepy,  regular  routine  of  the  little  bourg,  and 
the  doors  and  windows  it  can  boast  of  became  alive  with 
curious  eyes  as  we  passed  along  the  deserted  streets.  In  an 
open  carriage  we  were  driven  to  Pont  St.  Esprit,  and  noticed 
the  long  lines  of  mulberry  trees  on  each  side  of  the  roads; 
the  driver  explained  that  they  are  planted  to  feed  the  silk- 
worms, and  that  in  two  months  they  would  be  leafless.  We 
took  the  steamer  again  at  Pont  St.  Esprit,  late  in  the  follow- 
ing day,  for  Avignon.  In  the  morning  of  Sunday  we  all 
went  to  hear  High  Mass  in  the  Cathedral,  then  to  the  Palace 
of  the  Popes,  and  round  the  walls.  In  the  afternoon  we 
visited  the  tomb  of  John  Stuart  Mill,  and  my  husband  left 
his  card  at  the  house  of  Miss  Taylor.  We  then  heard  music 
in  the  open  air,  and  saw  the  old  bridge. 

It  was  a very  pleasant  fortnight  that  we  spent  at  Marseilles 
with  our  relations,  the  only  drawback  being  Gilbert’s  uncer- 
tain health,  which  prevented  him  from  going  out  much; 
though  close  to  the  expanse  of  the  Mediterranean,  I suppose 
he  had  the  feeling  expressed  in  the  preface  to  “ Landscape  ” 
in  these  words : “ The  lover  of  wilderness  always  feels  con- 
fined among  the  evidences  of  a minutely  careful  civilization.” 

Towards  the  end  of  the  day,  when  the  blinding  glare  of 
sunshine  was  softened,  we  generally  went  to  the  Yieux  Port, 
where  there  was  an  uninterrupted  succession  of  picturesque 
scenes  among  sailors  of  all  nations  and  ships  of  every  descrip- 
tion; or  to  La  Joliette,  to  watch  the  arrival  or  departure  of 
the  Chinese  vessels  and  other  curious  craft.  At  other  times 
we  walked  in  the  Parc  Borelli  or  on  the  Corniche. 

A novel  feature  in  our  life  was  the  frequent  visits  to  the 
theatre  with  our  friends.  It  was  most  remarkable  that  my 
husband  should  take  such  a sudden  fancy  to  the  Opera;  he 
could  not  account  for  it  himself,  except  by  noticing  that  “ he 


MEMOIR 


475 


felt  at  home  in  it.”  We  invariably  took  fauteuils  d'orchestre , 
so  that  he  only  saw  the  musicians,  actors,  and  scenery  — hardly 
any  of  the  occupants  of  the  theatre,  except  those  in  the  stage- 
boxes.  It  is  a curious  fact  that  in  the  space  of  a fortnight  he 
heard  more  operas  than  in  all  the  rest  of  his  life. 

He  wrote  the  greater  part  of  the  day  in  a very  quiet  room, 
which  M.  Pelletier,  who  was  well  acquainted  with  his  tastes, 
had  fitted  up  accordingly  at  the  very  beginning  of  our  visit. 

On  our  return  we  stopped  to  see  Tarascon  and  Beaucaire, 
where  we  had  still  some  friends.  In  the  last  place  the  director 
of  the  gas-works  obligingly  showed  us  through  the  house 
which  had  been  my  father’s.  We  also  visited  Nimes,  Orange, 
and  Montelimart,  giving  a whole  day  to  each  place.  It  was 
already  very  hot  in  the  south,  and  the  perfume  of  the  acacias 
in  full  bloom  everywhere  was  almost  more  than  we  could 
bear,  especially  at  Montelimart.  At  Orange,  after  seeing  the 
noble  Roman  remains,  we  partly  ascended  the  hill  to  see  the 
Ventoux  range  of  mountains;  then  went  on  to  Valence  for 
the  night.  We  were  on  board  the  steamer  at  five  in  the 
morning,  and  had  a delightful  voyage  to  Lyons,  during  which 
Gilbert  took  copious  notes  in  the  map-book  he  had  prepared 
on  purpose.  After  resting  a day,  we  went  straight  on  to 
Chalon  by  boat,  and  had  a pleasant  day  with  the  captain,  who 
invited  us  to  dejeuner  with  him  on  board. 

On  the  whole,  we  were  satisfied  with  our  journey;  but  the 
information  my  husband  had  collected  on  the  way  convinced 
him  that  the  Rhone  project,  as  he  had  planned  it,  was  utterly 
impracticable. 

We  were  soon  in  great  anxiety  about  our  relatives  at  Mar- 
seilles, for  we  learned  that  cholera  had  broken  out  there  early 
in  July.  Gilbert,  without  the  least  hesitation,  immediately 
wrote  to  M.  Pelletier,  inviting  him  and  his  children  to  La 
Tuilerie,  where  they  would  be  safe  from  the  terrible  scourge. 
Our  brother-in-law  readily  availed  himself  of  the  invitation 
for  his  children;  but  thought  it  his  duty  to  remain  at  his 
post,  and  set  an  example  to  the  panic-stricken  population. 

The  arrival  of  our  nephews  and  niece  from  the  very  centre 
of  contamination  did  not  tend  to  augment  our  popularity  in 


476 


MEMOIR. 


the  neighborhood,  and  we  were  made  to  understand  — very 
plainly  — that  the  house  was  tabooed,  along  with  ourselves. 
Our  milk  from  the  farm  just  opposite  to  our  house  was 
brought  to  us  half-way,  and  deposited  in  the  middle  of  the 
road,  where  our  servant  had  to  go  and  fetch  it  — no  one 
amongst  the  inmates  of  the  farm  being  sufficiently  courageous 
either  to  bring  it  within  our  walls,  or  to  deliver  it  to  a ser- 
vant who  had  approached  “ les  Marseillais.  ” 

Ever  since  Richard  had  come  home  he  had  been  steadily 
preparing  himself  for  his  examination,  with  the  help  of  his 
father.  Every  day  they  read  English  poetry  together,  and 
Gilbert  gave  him  all  the  necessary  information  as  to  the 
meaning,  rhythm,  and  structure. 

In  moments  of  relaxation  he  joined  the  family  circle,  fre- 
quently enlivened  by  the  presence  of  a young  couple,  M.  and 
Mme.  Pochon,  who  had  recently  come  to  live  at  the  schist- 
works,  where  the  husband  was  managing  engineer.  The  lady 
had  a charming  voice,  and  used  to  sing  in  the  church  with 
Mary,  who  played  the  harmonium.  This  led  to  an  intimacy, 
and  with  an  additional  singer  and  pianist  in  the  person  of  my 
niece  we  often  organized  private  concerts,  in  which  my  hus- 
band took  great  pleasure.  There  was  nothing  he  enjoyed 
more  than  such  private  recreation,  except  perhaps  the  satis- 
faction of  taking  trouble  to  make  things  agreeable  to  others. 
Here  is  an  instance  among  many. 

On  a fearfully  hot  day  in  August  he  overheard  a cantiniere 
who,  talking  to  her  husband  from  the  top  of  a wagon  which 
had  just  stopped  near  La  Tuilerie,  was  lamenting  her  inabil- 
ity to  find  a shady  place  for  the  dejeuner  of  the  officers,  who 
would  shortly  arrive.  He  saw  at  once  that  he  might  offer 
these  hot  and  weary  warriors  the  unexpected  pleasure  of  a 
cool  resting-place.  So  he  went  to  the  cantiniere , and  pro- 
posed to  have  the  officers’  table  set  upon  the  lawn,  under  the 
shady  elder  trees.  The  woman  could  hardly  credit  such  a 
charitable  offer,  and  warned  him  that  the  fresh-looking  grass 
would  certainly  suffer  from  it;  but  he  only  smiled,  saying 
that  it  could  not  be  helped,  but  that  he  hoped  to  induce  the 
grass  to  grow  again  with  copious  watering. 


MEMOIR. 


477 


The  table  was  set,  chairs  were  brought  from  the  house,  also 
live  charcoal  for  the  portable  stove,  and  we  witnessed  a very 
entertaining  scene  from  behind  the  shutters  when  the  regi- 
ment halted. 

The  Colonel  began  to  swear  and  scold  at  sight  of  the  white, 
dusty,  sultry  road  where  the  cantiniere  had  stopped,  and  for 
a few  moments  refused  to  listen  to  her  explanations;  but 
when  he  saw  Mr.  Hamerton  coming  out  of  the  garden  gate  to 
invite  him  inside  with  his  brother  officers,  he  dismounted  to 
salute  him,  and  stood  fixed  in  a state  of  ecstacy  before  the 
inviting  white  table-cloth,  looking  so  fresh  and  cool  between 
the  green  grass  of  the  lawn  and  the  green  leaves  of  the  trees. 
The  other  officers  shared  this  pleasant  impression,  and  were 
profuse  in  their  thanks.  After  a short  talk  with  the  master 
of  the  house  — who  was  called  away  to  his  own  dejeuner  by 
the  bell  — they  drank  his  health,  and  sat  down  with  un- 
feigned satisfaction  to  their  meal. 

It  was  not  only  the  lawn  which  was  thus  invaded;  for 
there  being  in  the  courtyard  a deep  well  of  deliciously  cold 
water,  the  soldiers  were  not  slow  to  find  their  way  to  it,  and 
after  quenching  their  thirst  and  filling  up  their  bidons , they 
stretched  themselves  at  full  length  upon  the  ground  wherever 
there  was  shade,  either  from  tree  or  wall. 

This  general  enjoyment  of  an  hour’s  delicious  rest  amply 
compensated  my  husband  for  the  havoc  done  in  the  garden. 

We  were  rather  a numerous  household  then,  at  meal-times, 
with  the  addition  of  my  mother,  M.  Pelletier  and  his  three 
children,  my  brother,  his  wife  and  two  little  girls,  so  that 
when  the  youngest  officer  entered  the  dining-room  — as  spokes- 
man — to  reiterate  the  thanks  of  his  brother  officers,  he  felt 
abashed  by  so  many  eyes  fixed  upon  him;  still,  he  managed 
to  get  through  his  duty  — somewhat  hurriedly  — and  soon 
after  the  regiment  was  marching  off;  the  men,  now  rested  and 
refreshed,  singing  lustily  at  the  top  of  their  voices,  and  wav- 
ing their  kepis  towards  La  Tuilerie. 

Stephen  arrived  for  the  vacation  towards  the  middle  of 
August;  but  the  suspense  in  which  we  were  kept  about 
Richard’s  examination  was  most  unfavorable  to  the  health  of 


478 


MEMOIR. 


his  father.  At  last  there  were  great  rejoicings  when  a tele- 
gram conveyed  to  us  his  brilliant  success.  He  came  out 
second  on  the  list,  the  lirst  being  a lady  — Miss  Williams  — 
of  whom  he  had  often  spoken  to  us  in  high  terms,  having 
been  with  her  as  a student  at  the  Sorbonne,  and  who  has 
since  become  directress  of  that  most  useful  institution,  the 
Franco-English  Guild. 

We  were  told  that  Richard  was  the  youngest  agrege  in 
France,  and  of  course  we  were  proud  of  it.  Mr.  Seeley 
wrote:  “I  heartily  congratulate  you  on  Richard’s  great 

success.  It  is  not  often  that  a young  man  can  so  speedily 
justify  his  choice  of  a career.” 

“ Human  Intercourse  ” was  published  in  September,  and 
sold  well,  in  spite  of  its  cold  reception  by  the  Press.  Mr. 
Hamerton  did  not  allow  unfavorable  criticism  to  disturb  him 
much.  There  was  only  one  kind  of  attack  that  he  did  not 
bear  patiently , I believe,  and  that  was  being  told  that  he  had 
no  genius.  “ I don’t  pretend  to  have  genius;  I never  said  I 
had ; then  why  make  it  a reproach  % ” he  used  to  say. 

There  was  a second  edition  as  early  as  December,  and  I 
give  here  a fragment  of  one  of  the  numerous  letters  the  author 
received,  which  may  prove  that  public  opinion  was  more 
favorable  to  the  book  than  the  critics : — 

“ You  have  given  me  some  pleasant  hours  as  I read  and  pon- 
dered over  remarks  of  yours  in  ‘ Human  Intercourse.’  It  is  not 
the  first  time  that  you  have  tinted  the  current  of  my  life.  I here- 
by certify  to  my  gratitude,  not  that  I am  of  any  account  in  the 
world,  but  because  it  seems  to  me  a sort  of  duty,  and  because,  were 
our  positions  reversed,  it  would  please  me  to  know  that  I was  ap- 
preciated even  by  a stranger.  What  you  say  about  priests  and 
women  interests  me  deeply  as  a clergyman.  ...” 

The  letter  contained  eleven  pages  of  confidential  talk, 
mostly  about  personal  experiences  in  the  discharge  of  profes- 
sional duty;  clearly  showing  that  the  subject  had  not  been 
treated  in  vain  in  “ Human  Intercourse.  ” 

There  had  been  a serious  strike  at  the  schist-works  of  La 
Comaille  (close  to  Pre-Charmoy),  and  the  hands,  now  that 


MEMOIR. 


479 


the  winter  was  coming  upon  them,  were  distressed  and  greatly 
disheartened.  Mr.  Hamerton  tried  his  best  to  mollify  the 
engineer  and  to  reason  with  the  men,  and  make  them  see  that 
the  strike  could  not  bring  them  any  advantage.  At  last  the 
workmen  asked  to  be  allowed  to  return  to  their  work ; but  the 
engineer  refused  to  take  back  the  promoters  of  the  strike, 
among  whom  was  the  husband  of  one  of  our  former  servants. 
The  poor  woman  came  in  tears  to  beseech  her  “ bon  Monsieur” 
to  obtain  M.  Pochon’s  forgiveness,  for  if  her  husband  were 
kept  out  of  work  much  longer  her  three  little  children  would 
have  to  starve.  The  landlord  having  already  threatened  to 
turn  them  out,  my  husband  had  paid  the  rent  of  their  cottage 
for  a year,  and  now  he  pleaded  so  warmly  the  cause  of  the  de- 
luded workmen  to  Madame  Pochon,  — asking  for  her  influence 
in  their  favor,  — that  together  they  carried  their  point,  and 
so  gave  comfort  to  several  poor  families.  With  the  exception 
of  the  two  ringleaders,  who  had  used  threats  and  violent  lan- 
guage, all  the  hands  were  taken  back  again.  Our  former  ser- 
vant’s gratitude  still  survives;  one  of  her  children  never  fails 
to  send  the  united  wishes  of  the  family  for  the  New  Year, 
and  the  letters  always  begin  with,  “ Nos  chers  bienfaiteurs.  ” 

The  great  kindness  and  generosity  of  “ L’Anglais  ” were  so 
well  known  in  our  neighborhood  that  the  people  had  no  hesi- 
tation in  applying  at  La  Tuilerie  for  clothing,  medicines,  or 
help  of  any  kind.  Even  the  beggars  who  came  regularly, 
lingered  after  pocketing  their  penny  in  the  hope  of  seeing 
him  personally  as  he  crossed  the  courtyard  or  went  out  on 
the  road,  for  then  — as  an  old  woman  confided  to  one  of  the 
maids  — “ On  est  sur  d’une  piece  blanche.”  He  was  entirely 
free  from  false  pride,  and  looked  down  upon  no  one  deserving 
respect.  One  girl  whom  we  had  had  in  our  service  for  five 
years,  and  who  only  left  us  to  be  married,  begged  as  a great 
favor  that  Mary  should  be  godmother  to  her  child.  He  gave 
his  leave  at  once,  being  the  first  to  recall  how  attached  and 
devoted  she  had  been  to  our  daughter  when  a baby.  And 
when  she  called  with  her  husband,  he  always  shook  hands 
with  them  both,  and  offered  them  refreshments. 

He  showed  the  same  ready  sympathy  to  the  class  of  young 


480 


MEMOIR. 


authors  and  artists  in  want  of  help  and  advice,  trying  to  get 
them  employment,  and  helping  them  to  improve  th^eir  work. 
He  often  accepted  for  the  “ Portfolio  ” articles  which  greatly 
increased  his  labors;  for  he  had  to  correct  and  to  rewrite 
parts  — if  he  perceived  some  promise  of  talent  in  their 
authors.  He  also  took  the  trouble  of  criticizing  minutely 
numbers  of  etchings  and  drawings,  pointing  out  possible 
alterations  which  might  make  them  acceptable  to  the  public, 
and  by  so  doing  he  helped  to  form  and  encouraged  a great 
number  of  artists. 

Mr.  Seeley  was  anxious  that  the  book  on  “ Landscape  ” 
might  be  out  in  good  time  for  the  Christmas  sale,  and 
explained  the  many  reasons  which  made  it  desirable;  but 
although  the  author  had  done  his  best  to  be  ready,  he  began 
to  doubt  of  the  possibility.  Having  been  anxious  about  it 
and  hurried,  he  became  subject  to  painful  attacks  of  palpita- 
tion. As  soon  as  Mr.  Seeley  heard  of  it  he  wrote : — 

“ Pray  do  not  run  any  risk  of  ruining  your  health.  Tell  me  ex- 
actly how  you  stand,  how  much  remains  to  be  written.  Then  we 
will  face  the  position  like  sensible  people,  and  consider  what  is 
best  to  be  done.  You  must  neither  risk  your  health  by  overwork 
nor  your  reputation  by  hasty  work.  What  a pity  it  is  that  you 
don’t  enjoy  games  ! I find  tennis  such  a relief  from  worries.  I 
have  also  a double  tricycle,  on  which  I ride  every  morning  with  my 
garden  boy.  It  is  a capital  exercise ; the  steering  occupies  one’s 
thoughts  almost  as  well  as  a game.  One  can’t  think  much  of 
business  while  going  seven  or  eight  miles  an  hour  with  the  prob- 
ability that  any  considerable  swerve  will  lead  to  an  upset.” 

Gilbert  sometimes  went  on  a velocipede,  and  liked  it,  but 
did  not  possess  one  at  that  time. 

In  November  there  was  good  news  for  the  boys.  Richard 
had  been  told  by  M.  Pelletier  that  a post  at  Marseilles  would 
soon  be  vacant,  and  that  he  might  apply  for  it.  He  did  so, 
and  got  it,  whilst  Stephen  replaced  him  at  Poitiers,  so  that 
now  they  were  both  provided  with  good  situations. 


MEMOIR. 


481 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

1884-1888. 

“ Landscape.”  — The  Autobiography  begun.  — “ Imagination  in  land- 
scape painting.”  — “ The  Saone.”  — “ Portfolio  papers.” 

In  October,  1884,  all  the  five  hundred  large-paper  copies  of 
“ Landscape  ” had  been  ordered  except  fifty ; but  the  last  pages 
of  MS.  were  not  sent  off  until  January  30,  1885. 

The  author  wrote  to  the  publisher : “ At  last  I have  the 
pleasure  of  sending  you  a page  of  MS.  with  ‘ The  End  * 
written  upon  it;  ” and  as  if  relieved  from  his  task  he  went  on 
to  relate  the  following  ihcidents : — 

“ There  has  been  a curious  attempt  at  assassination  here  yester- 
day. A doctor  named  Vala  was  stopped  by  what  seemed  to  be  a 
nun,  who  asked  for  a place  in  his  gig.  He  stretched  out  his  hand 
to  take  a parcel  belonging  to  the  nun,  took  it,  and  then  offered  her 
his  hand.  He  touched  it,  thought  ‘ That ’s  the  hand  of  a man,’ 
wThipped  his  horse,  and  drove  off  at  full  speed.  When  at  a dis- 
tance he  examined  the  contents  of  the  parcel,  which  turned  out  to 
be  a loaded  revolver  and  a dagger.  He  thinks  the  project  was  to 
assassinate  him  en  route.  * 

“ Other  curious  story. 

“Night  before  last  a strange  man  got  tipsy  in  our  village  and 
began  to  blab  and  talk.  He  asked  for  a bottle  without  a bottom, 
and  for  some  woollen  rags.  He  was  suspected  of  having  a dyna- 
mite project,  and  the  mayor  was  fetched  at  one  in  the  morning  to 
look  after  him,  so  he  arrested  him  and  took  him  to  Autun  at  two 
a.  m.  On  the  way  the  man  coolly  confessed  that  he  was  one  of  a 
dynamite  gang  of  ten,  and  threatened  the  mayor  and  the  village 
when  he  got  out  of  prison. 

“ So  you  see  we  have  our  dangers  as  well  as  you.” 

“ Human  Intercourse  ” was  more  popular  in  America  than 
in  England.  Roberts  Brothers  wrote : “We  have  been  sell- 

31 


482 


MEMOIR. 


ing  three  thousand  copies  of  ‘ Human  Intercourse ; ’ does  not 
that  speak  well  for  your  popularity  here  ? As  yet  the  pirates 
have  left  it  alone,  although  the  ‘ Intellectual  Life  ’ has  been 
pirated.”  Still,  the  author  continued  to  receive  many  letters 
testifying  to  the  appreciation  of  the  book  by  his  countrymen. 
Mr.  Wyld  said : “ I have  read  ‘ Human  Intercourse  ’ from 
end  to  end,  and  intend  to  do  so  more  than  once,  taking  and 
considering  each  essay  separately.” 

Mrs.  Henry  Ady  (Julia  Cartwright)  wrote  that  she  and  her 
husband  had  been  charmed  with  it.  The  book  seemed  to 
have  influenced  women  powerfully,  for  their  letters  about  it 
were  very  numerous. 

The  news  of  Richard’s  health  became  disquieting  early  in 
the  month  of  January;  he  suffered  much  from  headaches,  and 
could  not  work.  He  was  well  nursed  at  his  uncle’s,  M. 
Pelletier’s,  by  his  grandmother,  who  happened  to  be  on  a 
visit  to  her  son-in-law.  The  doctor  said  it  was  a kind  of 
nondescript  fever  with  cerebral  and  typhoid  symptoms,  to 
which  young  people  not  acclimatized  to  Marseilles  were  very 
liable  on  settling  there.  In  Richard’s  case  there  had  been 
a predisposition  on  account  of  the  hard  work  he  had  gone 
through  for  the  Agregation.  He  had  looked  as  if  he  bore  it 
easily  while  it  lasted;  but  the  strain  had  been  more  severe 
than  he  was  aware  of;  and  two  years  after  his  recovery  he 
told  me  that  he  had  never  felt  the  same  since  that  illness  at 
Marseilles. 

In  February,  Miss  Betham-Edwards  having  sent  a volume 
of  her  poems  to  my  husband,  he  wrote  in  acknowledgment:  — 

“ I have  read  your  book  in  the  evenings  and  with  pleasure,  es- 
pecially some  pieces  that  I have  read  many  times.  ‘ The  Wife’s 
Prayer,’  for  one,  seems  to  me  quite  a perfect  piece  of  work ; and 
not  less  perfect  in  another  way,  and  quite  a different  way,  is  * Don 
Josd’s  Mule,  Jacintha.’  The  delicate  humor  of  the  latter,  in  com- 
bination with  really  deep  pathos  and  most  finished  workmanship, 
please  me  immensely.  Besides  this,  I have  a fellow-feeling  for 
Don  Josd,  because  I have  an  old  pony  that  I attend  to  myself 
always,  etc.,  etc.  . . . 

“I  have  been  vexed  for  some  time  now  by  the  tendency  to 


MEMOIR. 


483 


jealous  hostility  between  France  and  England.  I had  hoped  some 
years  ago  that  the  future  might  establish  a friendly  understanding 
between  the  two  nations,  based  upon  their  obvious  interest  in  the 
first  place,  and  perhaps  a little  on  the  interchange  of  ideas ; but  I 
fear  it  was  illusory,  and  that  at  some  future  date,  at  present  un- 
determinable, there  will  be  another  war  between  them,  as  in  the 
days  of  our  fathers.  I have  thought  sometimes  of  trying  to  found 
an  Anglo-French  Society  or  League,  the  members  of  which  should 
simply  engage  themselves  to  do  their  best  on  all  occasions  to  soften 
the  harsh  feeling  between  the  two  nations.  I dare  say  some 
literary  people  would  join  such  a league.  Swinburne  very  prob- 
ably would,  and  so  would  you,  I fancy.  I could  get  adhesions  in 
the  French  University  and  elsewhere.  Some  influential  political 
Englishmen,  such  as  Bright,  might  be  counted  upon.  I would 
have  begun  the  thing  long  since;  but  I dread  the  heavy  corre- 
spondence it  would  bring  upon  me.  I would  have  a very  small  sub- 
scription, as  the  league  ought  to  include  working  men.  Peace  and 
war  hang  on  such  trifles  sometimes  that  a society  such  as  I am 
imagining  might  possibly  on  some  occasion  have  influence  enough 
to  prevent  a war.  It  should  be  understood  also  that  by  a sort  of 
freemasonry  a member  of  the  society  would  endeavor  to  serve 
any  member  of  it  belonging  to  the  other  nation. 

“ I don’t  know  if  you  have  observed  how  harshly  Matthew 
Arnold  writes  of  France  now.  He  accuses  the  whole  nation  of 
being  sunk  in  immorality , which  is  very  unfair.  There  are  many 
perfectly  well-conducted  people  in  France;  and  why  does  not 
Arnold  write  in  the  same  strain  against  Italy,  which  is  more  im- 
moral still  ? The  French  expose  themselves  very  much  by  their 
incapacity  for  hypocrisy  — all  French  faults  are  seen.” 

The  winter  was  very  cold,  and  all  the  ponds  were  covered 
with  ice,  affording  good  opportunity  for  skating.  My  hus- 
band undertook  to  teach  Mary  to  skate,  and  they  often  went 
on  the  ice  together. 

“ Landscape  ” was  published  on  March  12,  and  on  the  19th 
all  the  large-paper  copies  were  gone,  and  the  small  ones 
dropping  off  daily. 

The  author  wrote  to  Mr.  Seeley : — 

“I  am  glad  ‘Landscape’  is  moving  nicely.  Nothing  is  more 
disagreeable  to  an  author  than  to  see  an  enterprising  publisher 
paid  for  his  trust  and  confidence  by  anxiety  and  loss,  especially 


484 


MEMOIR. 


when  the  publisher  is  a friend.  Failure  with  this  book  would  have 
been  especially  painful  to  me,  as  I should  have  attributed  it  in 
great  part  to  my  slowness  with  the  MS.,  and  consequent  want  of 
punctuality.” 

Mr.  F.  G.  Stephens  said : “ The  book  is  a superb  affair, 
and,  as  far  as  I have  seen  it,  deserves  all  praise.” 

R.  L.  Stevenson  wrote : — 


“Bournemouth.  March  16,1885. 

“My  dear  Hamerton, — Various  things  have  been  reminding 
me  of  my  misconduct ; first,  Swan’s  application  for  your  address ; 
second,  a sight  of  the  sheets  of  your  ‘ Landscape  ’ book ; and  last, 
your  note  to  Swan,  which  he  was  so  kind  as  to  forward.  I trust 
you  will  never  suppose  me  to  be  guilty  of  anything  more  serious 
than  an  idleness,  partially  excusable.  My  ill-health  makes  my  rate 
of  life  heavier  than  I can  well  meet,  and  yet  stops  me  from  earning 
more.  My  conscience,  sometimes  perhaps  too  easily  stifled,  but 
still  (for  my  time  of  life  and  the  public  manners  of  the  age)  fairly 
well  alive,  forces  me  to  perpetual  and  almost  endless  transcriptions. 
On  the  back  of  all  this,  any  correspondence  hangs  like  a thunder- 
cloud, and  just  when  I think  I am  getting  through  my  troubles, 
crack,  down  goes  my  health,  I have  a long,  costly  sickness,  and 
begin  the  world  again.  It  is  fortunate  for  me  I have  a father,  or  I 
should  long  ago  have  died  ; but  the  opportunity  of  the  aid  makes 
the  necessity  none  the  more  welcome.  My  father  has  presented  me 
with  a beautiful  house  here  — or  so  I believe,  for  I have  not  yet 
seen  it,  being  a cage  bird,  but  for  nocturnal  sorties  in  the  garden. 
T hope  we  shall  soon  move  into  it,  and  I tell  myself  that  some  day 
perhaps  we  may  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  as  our  guest.  I 
trust  at  least  that  you  will  take  me  as  I am,  a thoroughly  bad  cor- 
respondent, and  a man,  a hater,  indeed,  of  rudeness  in  others,  but 
too  often  rude  in  all  unconsciousness  himself  ; and  that  you  will 
never  cease  to  believe  the  sincere  sympathy  and  admiration  that  I 
feel  for  you  and  for  your  work. 

“ About  the  ‘ Landscape,’  which  I had  a glimpse  of  while  a friend 
of  mine  was  preparing  a review,  I was  greatly  interested,  and 
could  write  and  wrangle  for  a year  on  every  page:  one  passage 
particularly  delighted  me,  the  part  about  Ulysses  — jolly.  Then, 
you  know,  that  is  just  what  I fear  I have  come  to  think  landscape 
ought  to  be  in  literature  : so  there  we  should  be  at  odds.  Or  per- 
haps not  so  much  as  I suppose,  as  Montaigne  says  it  is  a pot  with 


MEMOIR. 


485 


two  handles,  and  I own  I am  wedded  to  the  technical  handle,  which 
(I  likewise  own,  and  freely)  you  do  well  to  keep  for  a mistress.  I 
should  much  like  to  talk  with  you  about  some  other  points  ; it  is 
only  in  talk  that  one  gets  to  understand.  Your  delightful  Words- 
worth trap  I have  tried  on  two  hardened  Wordsworthians,  not  that 
I am  not  one  myself.  By  covering  up  the  context,  and  asking  them 
to  guess  what  the  passage  was,  both  (and  both  are  very  clever 
people,  one  a writer,  one  a painter)  pronounced  it  a guide-book. 
‘ Do  you  think  it  unusually  good  guide-book  ? ’ I asked.  And  both 
said,  ‘ No,  not  at  all  1 ’ Their  grimace  was  a picture  when  I 
showed  the  original. 

“ I trust  your  health  and  that  of  Mrs.  Hamerton  keep  better ; 
your  last  account  was  a poor  one.  I was  unable  to  make  out  the 
visit  I had  hoped  as  (I  do  not  know  if  you  heard  of  it)  I had  a 
very  violent  and  dangerous  hemorrhage  last  spring.  I am  almost 
glad  to  have  seen  death  so  close  with  all  my  wits  about  me,  and 
not  in  the  customary  lassitude  and  disenchantment  of  disease. 
Even  thus  clearly  beheld,  I find  him  not  so  terrible  as  we  suppose. 
But,  indeed,  with  the  passing  of  years,  the  decay  of  strength,  the 
loss  of  all  my  old  active  and  pleasant  habits,  there  grows  more  and 
more  upon  me  that  belief  in  the  kindness  of  this  scheme  of  things, 
and  the  goodness  of  our  veiled  God,  which  is  an  excellent  and 
pacifying  compensation.  I trust,  if  your  health  continues  to 
trouble  you,  you  may  find  some  of  the  same  belief.  But  perhaps 
my  fine  discovery  is  a piece  of  art,  and  belongs  to  a character 
cowardly,  intolerant  of  certain  feelings,  and  apt  to  self-deception. 
I don’t  think  so,  however ; and  when  I feel  what  a weak  and  fal- 
lible vessel  I was  thrust  into  this  hurly-burly,  and  with  what 
marvellous  kindness  the  wind  has  been  tempered  to  my  frailties, 
I think  I should  be  a strange  kind  of  ass  to  feel  anything  but 
gratitude. 

“ I do  not  know  why  I should  inflict  this  talk  upon  you ; but 
when  I summon  the  rebellious  pen,  he  must  go  his  own  way  : I am 
no  Michael  Scott,  to  rule  the  fiend  of  correspondence.  Most  days 
he  will  none  of  me  : and  when  he  comes,  it  is  to  rape  me  where  he 
will. 

“ Yours  very  sincerely, 

“ Robert  Louis  Stevenson.” 

Mr.  Seeley  wrote : — 

“ My  brother  the  Professor  has  been  staying  with  us  and  read- 
ing the  1 Graphic  Arts  ’ and  ‘ Landscape  ’ most  assiduously.  He 


486 


MEMOIR. 


was  deeply  interested,  and  said  they  seemed  to  him  most  impor- 
tant works,  giving  him  views  about  art  which  had  never  entered 
his  mind  before.  He  seems  to  feel  that  you  are  doing  in  Art  what 
he  is  doing  in  History.’* 

For  the  present,  Mr.  Hamerton  had  no  great  work  in  hand. 
There  was  the  usual  writing  for  the  “ Portfolio,  ” and  he  had 
been  asked  for  articles  by  the  editors  of  “ Longmans’  Maga- 
zine ” and  the  “ Atlantic  Monthly,”  but  he  had  not  yet  made 
up  his  mind  as  to  the  subject  of  a new  important  book,  and 
was  discussing  various  schemes  both  with  Mr.  Seeley  and 
Mr.  Craik. 

In  one  of  his  letters  to  Mr.  Seeley  he  said : — 

“ I have  sometimes  thoughts  of  writing  a book  (not  too  long)  on 
the  Elements  or  Principles  of  Art  Criticism,  in  the  same  way  as 
G.  H.  Lewes  once  wrote  a series  of  papers  for  the  ‘ Fortnightly  ’ 
on  the  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature.  I think  I could  make 
such  papers  interesting  by  giving  examples  both  from  critics  and 
artists,  and  from  various  kinds  of  art.  It  would  add  to  the  in- 
terest of  such  papers  if  they  had  a few  illustrations  specially  for 
themselves,  and  as  I went  on  with  the  writing  I could  tell  you  be- 
forehand what  illustrations  might  be  useful,  though  I cannot  say 
beforehand  what  might  be  required.  I should  make  it  my  busi- 
ness to  show  in  what  real  criticism,  that  is  worth  writing  and 
worth  reading,  differs  from  the  hasty  expression  of  mere  personal 
sensations  which  is  so  often  substituted  for  it  ; and  I would  show 
in  some  detail  how  there  are  different  criteria,  and  how  they  may 
be  justly  or  unjustly  applied,  giving  examples.  The  articles  might 
be  reprinted  afterwards  in  the  shape  of  a moderate-sized  book  like 
my  ‘ Life  of  Turner,’  but  about  half  as  thick,  and  if  we  kept  the 
illustrations  small  they  might  go  into  the  book.  Such  a piece  of 
work  would  have  the  advantage  of  giving  me  opportunities  for 
showing  how  strongly  tempted  we  all  are  to  judge  works  of  art  by 
some  special  criterion  instead  of  applying  different  criteria.  For 
example,  I remember  hearing  a man  say  before  a picture  that  told 
a story  that 1 its  color  was  good,  and,  after  all,  the  color  was  the  main 
thing  in  a picture.’  Another  would  have  criticised  the  drawing  of 
the  figures,  a third  the  composition,  a fourth  the  handling.  Lastly, 
it  might  have  occurred  to  some  one  to  inquire  how  the  story  was 
told,  and  whether  the  artist  had  understood  the  story  he  had  to  tell. 

“ I remember  being  in  an  exhibition  with  Robinson,  the  famous 


MEMOIR. 


487 


engraver,  more  than  twenty,  or  perhaps  thirty,  years  ago,  and  was 
very  much  struck  by  a criticism  of  his  on  a picture  which  seemed 
to  me  very  good  in  many  respects,  though  the  effect  was  a very 
quiet  one.  He  said,  * There ’s  no  light  and  shade ; ’ and  the 
want  of  good,  strong  oppositions  of  light  and  dark  that  could 
be  effectively  engraved  seemed  to  him  quite  a fatal  defect,  though 
on  looking  at  the  work  in  color  the  absence  of  these  oppositions 
did  not  strike  me,  as  other  qualities  predominated.  Here  was  the 
engraver’s  professional  point  of  view  interfering  with  his  judgment 
of  a picture  that  was  good,  but  could  not  be  engraved  effectually. 

“ Then  we  have  the  interference  of  feelings  quite  outside  of  art, 
as  when  Roman  Catholics  tolerate  hideous  pictures  because  they 
represent  some  saiut,  although  they  have  really  been  painted  from 
a hired  model,  and  only  represent  a saint  because  the  artist,  with  a 
view  to  sale,  has  given  a saint’s  name  to  the  portrait  of  the 
model. 

“ Also  there  is  the  judgment  by  the  literary  criterion,  which  is 
often  applied  to  pictures  by  thoughtful  and  learned  people.  They 
become  deeply  interested  in  one  picture  because  it  alludes  (in  a 
manner  which  seems  to  them  intelligent)  to  something  they  know 
by  books,  and  they  pass  with  indifference  better  works  that  have 
no  literary  association. 

“ Then  you  have  the  judgment  of  pictures  which  goes  by  the 
pleasure  of  the  eyes,  and  tastes  a picture  with  the  eyes  as  wine  and 
good  cooking  are  tasted  by  the  tongue.  I believe  this  ocular  ap- 
preciation is  nearer  to  the  essential  nature  of  art  than  the  literary 
or  intellectual  appreciation  of  it.  Vide  Titian’s  pictures,  which 
never  have  anything  to  say  to  the  intellect,  but  are  a feast  to  the 
eyes. 

“ Then  you  have  the  scientific  criterion,  which  judges  a landscape 
favorably  because  strata  are  correctly  superposed,  their  dip  accu- 
rately given,  and  i faults  ’ noticed.  In  the  figure  this  criticism  relies 
greatly  on  anatomy. 

“ I have  jotted  down  these  paragraphs  roughly  merely  to  show 
something  of  the  idea,  but  of  course  in  the  work  itself  there  would 
be  much  more  to  be  said  — other  criteria  to  examine,  and  a fuller 
inquiry  to  be  gone  into  about  these.  I should  rely  for  the  interest 
of  the  papers,  and  for  their  raison  d'etre  in  the  ‘ Portfolio,’  very 
much  upon  the  examples  alluded  to,  both  in  quotations  from  critics 
and  in  references  to  works  of  art. 

“ With  regard  to  the  papers  on  Landscape  Painters  — if  I wrote 
the  introductory  chapter  it  would  be  on  landscape-joam^ g as  an  art, 


488 


MEMOIR. 


not  so  much  on  the  painters.  I should  trace  something  of  its  his- 
tory, but  should  especially  show  how  it  differs  from  figure-painting 
in  certain  conditions.  For  example,  in  figure-painting  composition 
does  not  much  interfere  with  truthful  drawing,  as  a figure  can 
always  be  made  to  conform  to  desired  shapes  by  simply  altering  its 
attitude  and  putting  it  at  a greater  or  less  distance  from  the  specta- 
tor, but  in  landscape  composition  always  involves  the  re-shaping  of 
the  objects  themselves.  Again,  color  is  of  much  more  sentimental 
importance  in  landscape  than  in  the  figure.  Purple  hills,  a yellow 
streak  in  the  sky,  and  gray  water  produce  together  quite  a strong 
effect  on  the  poetical  imagination,  whereas  the  same  colors  in  a 
lady’s  dress  are  but  so  much  millinery.  If  the  landscape  is  en- 
graved it  loses  nine-tenths  of  its  poetical  significance ; if  the  portrait 
of  the  lady  is  engraved  there  is  only  a sacrifice  of  some  colors. 

“ October  8,  1885” 

Meanwhile,  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  might  undertake 
his  autobiography,  and  stipulate  that  it  should  only  be  pub- 
lished after  his  death.  He  told  me  that  his  health  being  so 
uncertain  and  his  earnings  so  precarious,  he  had  thought  the 
autobiography  might  be  a resource  for  me  in  case  of  his  pre- 
mature decease,  as  he  saw  clearly  that  notwithstanding  the 
considerable  sums  which  his  recent  successes  had  brought 
him,  it  was  not  likely  that  he  should  ever  save  enough  to 
leave  me  independent. 

As  he  had  himself  introduced  the  subject,  I led  him  to  con- 
sider Mary’s  future  prospects  in  life,  and  said  that  Stephen 
and  Richard  being  now  provided  with  situations,  we  ought 
to  think  of  their  sister.  Her  musical  education  had  now 
reached  such  a point  that  no  teaching  afforded  by  Autun  could 
be  of  any  value  to  her,  and  it  was  my  desire  that  she  might 
have  the  advantage  of  instruction  and  direction  in  her  studies 
from  one  of  the  best  professors  at  the  Conservatoire  of  Paris. 
I realized  that  it  would  be  a great  tax,  and  a no  less  great 
sacrifice  for  my  husband  to  be  left  alone  while  I should  be  in 
Paris  with  Mary ; but  I also  knew  that  he  never  shrank  from 
what  he  considered  a duty  — and  we  both  agreed  that  it  was 
a duty  to  put  our  daughter  in  a position  to  earn  her  living,  if 
circumstances  made  it  necessary. 

Accordingly  I inquired  who  was  thought  to  be  the  best  execu- 


MEMOIR. 


489 


tant  on  the  piano  in  Paris,  and  we  had  it  on  good  authority 
that  it  was  M.  Delaborde,  Professor  at  the  Conservatoire, 
with  whom  we  corresponded  immediately.  Although  we  had 
friendly  recommendations,  he  would  not  pledge  himself  to 
anything  before  examining  Mary,  and  we  started  for  Paris  in 
some  uncertainty.  I had  engaged  a little  apartment  at  the 
Hotel  de  la  Muette,  where  we  were  known,  and  a pleasant 
room  looking  on  the  garden  had  been  reserved  for  us,  not  to 
inconvenience  other  people  by  Mary’s  practice. 

I knew  the  result  of  the  examination  would  give  Gilbert 
great  pleasure,  so  I gave  him  every  detail  about  it.  M. 
Delaborde,  who  has  the  reputation  of  being  extremely  severe 
and  somewhat  blunt,  was  most  kind  and  encouraging.  After 
making  Mary  play  to  him  for  an  hour,  he  said : “ That  will 
do;  there  remains  a good  deal  to  be  done  and  acquired,  but 
you  may  acquire  it  by  hard  work  and  good  tuition  in  three 
years.  I consent  to  take  you  as  one  of  my  pupils,  but  I must 
let  you  know  at  once  that  I am  very  exacting.  Don’t  be 
afraid  of  me,  for  I see  that  you  are  industrious,  and  that  you 
really  love  music.  And  now  I am  going  to  pay  you  a com- 
pliment which  has  its  value,  coming  from  me  — I find  no 
defect  to  correct  in  your  method.”  After  that  he  gave  us 
a long  list  of  music  to  he  bought  for  practice,  and  said  we 
might  come  twice  a week.  He  also  inquired  what  direction 
I wished  her  studies  to  take,  and  whether  she  intended  to 
give  lessons.  I answered  that  I wished  her  studies  to  be  of 
the  most  serious  character,  exactly  as  if  she  were  preparing 
herself  to  be  a music-teacher,  though  it  was  not  her  parents’ 
present  intention,  but  because  one  never  was  certain  of  the 
future.  He  perfectly  understood  my  wishes,  and  was  also 
pleased  to  notice  his  new  pupil’s  partiality  for  classical  music. 
Strange  to  say  — and  I did  not  fail  to  convey  the  important 
fact  to  her  father  — Mary,  who  was  so  easily  frightened,  felt 
perfectly  at  ease  with  M.  Delaborde,  and  besides  her  senti- 
ment of  unbounded  admiration  for  his  talent,  she  soon  came 
to  have  a great  liking  for  himself.  Her  father  was  very 
glad  — for  her  sake  especially  — that  she  should  have  the 
satisfaction  of  seeing  her  efforts  taken  au  serieux , and  appre- 


490 


MEMOIR 


dated  by  such  an  authority  as  M.  Delaborde.  He  often  said 
that  one  of  the  greatest  satisfactions  in  life  was  to  he  able 
to  do  something  really  welly  better  than  most  people  could 
do  it,  and  he  was  happy  in  the  thought  that  music  would 
give  that  satisfaction  to  his  daughter.  About  music  he  had 
written  to  Mr.  Seeley : — 

“ I was  always  in  music  what  so  many  are  in  painting  — simply 
practical.  In  my  youth  I was  a pupil  of  Seymour  of  Manchester 
for  the  violin,  and  thought  to  be  a promising  amateur,  but  I have 
played  far  more  music  than  I ever  talked  about.  I don’t  at  all 
know  how  to  talk  or  write  about  music.  It  seems  to  me  that  it 
expresses  itself,  and  that  nothing  else  can  express  it.” 

After  an  absence  of  five  weeks  Gilbert  was  very  glad  to 
see  us  back,  and  to  hear  that  M.  Delaborde  had  been  very 
encouraging  to  Mary.  At  the  end  of  the  last  lesson  he  had 
said:  “ X Pan  nee  prochaine;  je  suis  certain  que  vous  revien- 
drez : vous  avez  le  feu  sacre.  ” 

Several  projects  of  books  had  occurred  to  Mr.  Hamerton, 
which  he  submitted  to  his  publishers  for  advice.  He  had 
thought  of  “Rouen,”  but  Mr.  Craik  had  answered:  “Your 
name  is  a popular  one,  and  anything  coming  from  you  is 
pretty  sure  of  a sale.  But  we  should  consider  whether  even 
your  name  will  persuade  the  public  to  buy  this  book  on 
Rouen.”  It  was  abandoned  for  the  consideration  of  a work 
on  the  “Western  Islands,”  to  which  Messrs.  Macmillan  were 
favorable. 

Mr.  Seeley  was  suggesting  the  “ Sea  ” as  a subject  that  he 
might  treat  with  authority  from  an  artistic  point  of  view,  but 
he  feared  he  had  not  had  sufficient  opportunity  of  studying 
it,  and  received  this  answer:  “Your  letter  of  this  morning 
has  suggested  to  me  another  scheme  — a series  of  articles  on 
‘ Imagination  in  Landscape  Painting.’”  The  idea  pleased 
my  husband  very  much,  and  as  he  reflected  about  it  he  began 
a sort  of  skeleton  scheme  for  its  treatment. 

His  own  imagination  about  landscape  was  truly  marvel- 
lous. Since  he  had  been  deprived  of  the  power  to  travel,  he 
was  continually  dreaming  that  he  had  undertaken  long  and 


MEMOIR. 


491 


distant  voyages,  in  which  he  discovered  wondrously  beautiful 
countries  and  magnificent  architecture.  He  often  gave  me, 
on  awaking,  vivid  descriptions  of  these  imaginary  scenes, 
which  he  remembered  in  every  detail  of  composition,  effect, 
and  color,  and  which  he  longed,  though  hopelessly,  to  repro- 
duce in  painting. 

He  was  now  writing  in  French  a life  of  Turner  for  the  series 
of  “ Les  Artistes  Celebres,”  published  by  the  “ Librairie  de 
l’Art.”  It  was  not  a translation  from  his  English  “ Life  of 
Turner,”  but  a new,  original,  and  much  shorter  work,  about 
which  he  wrote  to  Mr.  Seeley : — 

“ I am  writing  a book  in  French  — a new  life  of  Turner,  not  very 
long.  I find  the  change  of  language  most  refreshing.  Composi- 
tion in  French  is  a little  slower  for  me,  but  not  much,  and  as  I 
am  a great  appreciator  of  good  French  prose,  it  is  fun  to  try  to 
imitate  (at  a distance)  some  of  its  qualities.” 

Years  after,  writing  about  this  same  “ Life  of  Turner,” 
he  said  to  Mr.  Seeley : — 

“ The  insularity  of  the  English  that  you  speak  of  is  not  worse 
than  the  insularity  of  the  French.  When  I wrote  my  ‘Life  of 
Turner 5 for  the  ‘ Artistes  Cel&bres  ’ series,  I was  asked  to  reduce 
the  MS.  by  one  third,  for  the  reason  that  the  thicker  numbers  were 
only  given  to  great  artists.  The  sale  was  very  moderate,  as  so  few 
French  people  care  anything  about  English  art.” 

When  the  first  chapters  of  “ Imagination  in  Landscape 
Painting”  reached  Mr.  Seeley,  he  said:  “I  like  your  open- 
ing chapters  much,  and  I feel  glad  that  I have  set  you  on  a 
good  subject.” 

As  usual  during  the  vacation,  my  husband  went  on  the 
Saone  with  Stephen  and  Maurice  for  a fortnight.  “ L’Arar  ” 
had  been  greatly  improved,  but  was  still  to  undergo  new 
improvements  while  laid  up  for  the  winter.  On  coming  back 
home  Gilbert  wrote  to  Mr.  Seeley : — 

“ Stephen,  my  nephew  Maurice,  and  myself  have  just  returned 
from  an  exhibition  on  the  Saone  in  my  boat,  which  turned  out  de- 


492 


MEMOIR. 


lightful.  We  had  considerable  variety  of  wind  and  weather, 
including  a very  grand  thunderstorm  with  tremendous  wind  (of 
short  duration).  We  were  just  near  enough  to  a port  where  there 
was  an  inn  to  be  able  to  take  refuge  in  time.  The  boat  would  have 
ridden  out  the  storm  on  the  water,  scudding  under  bare  poles  of 
course ; but  I have  seen  so  many  telegraph-poles  and  trees  struck 
by  lightning,  that  I apprehended  the  possibility  of  its  striking  one 
of  our  masts.  At  the  inn  we  had  dinner,  and  during  the  whole  of 
dinner,  between  five  and  six  p.  m.,  we  had  a splendid  view  of  Mont 
Blanc  through  our  open  window  — first  with  all  its  snows  rosy,  and 
afterwards  fading  into  gray.  As  there  were  no  beds  in  the  inn  we 
went  on  by  night,  first  in  total  darkness  and  afterwards  in  moon- 
light, beating  against  the  wind,  but  the  wind  falling  altogether  and 
rain  coming  in  its  place,  and  the  nearest  inn  being  twelve  kilo- 
metres away,  we  slept  on  the  boat  under  a tent,  and  were  comfort- 
able enough  though  it  rained  all  night.  Next  morning  we  were 
under  sail  at  seven,  and  had  a delightful  day.  A curious  thing 
about  that  night  was  a swarm  of  ephemerae  so  dense  that  it  was 
like  a blinding  snowstorm.  I could  hardly  see  to  steer  for  them; 
they  hit  my  face  like  pelting  rain.  They  fell  on  the  deck,  till  it 
was  covered  an  inch  deep,  and  two  inches  deep  in  parts.  Next 
morning  Stephen,  on  cleaning  the  deck,  rolled  them  up  into  large 
balls,  which  he  threw  into  the  river.  The  people  call  them 
manna. 

“ We  exercised  ourselves  in  all  ways,  going  out  for  manoeuvres 
against  the  wind  when  it  was  worst,  rowing  in  dead  calms,  or  tow- 
ing the  boat  from  the  shore,  as  there  is  a towing-path  all  along  one 
side,  so  we  need  never  be  quite  stopped.  The  boat  behaved  capi- 
tally, and  as  the  lads  became  better  drilled  they  did  the  sailing 
business  better  together.  My  health  kept  wonderfully  well  in 
spite  of  (or  perhaps  in  consequence  of)  a good  deal  of  work  and 
some  hardship.  I did  a lot  of  sketches,  and  amused  myself  par- 
ticularly with  drawing  the  delicate  distances.  Yesterday,  on  our 
return,  we  met  by  appointment  a picnic  party  at  Norlay,  and 
walked  ten  kilometres  under  drenching  rain  to  see  a natural 
curiosity  called  the  ‘end  of  the  world,’  where  limestone  cliffs  end 
in  a sort  of  semi-circle. 

“It  is  believed  to  be  a creek  of  an  ancient  lake  or  sea.  The 
cliffs  are  evidently  undermined  by  waves,  and  hang  over.  The 
ground  in  the  middle  is  full  of  beautiful  pastures  and  vineyards, 
with  lovely  groups  of  trees  and  a stream,  and  two  very  picturesque 
villages.” 


MEMOIR. 


493 


The  different  methods  which  had  been  tried  for  producing 
manuscript  in  duplicate  had  all  proved  distasteful  and  un- 
satisfactory. My  husband  was  particularly  irritated  by  the 
delay  caused  by  having  to  press  down  the  hard  lead-pencil  or 
stiletto.  He  could  not  bear  any  slow  process  for  expressing 
the  swiftly  running  thoughts,  and  he  tried  another  plan  which 
enabled  him  to  write  very  nearly  as  fast  as  the  ideas  came. 
Using  glazed  paper  and  a soft  pencil  he  made  a rough  draft 
without  attempt  at  polish  in  style,  merely  fixing  the  thoughts. 
This  he  corrected  at  leisure,  and  copied  with  a particular 
kind  of  ink  which  was  said  to  yield  half-a-dozen  copies  upon 
moist  paper  put  under  a screw-press.  But  the  result  was 
very  imperfect,  and  took  too  much  time,  and  finally  he  used 
to  have  his  corrected  MS.  copied'  by  a professional  type- 
writer. This  plan  was  by  far  the  most  satisfactory,  as,  by 
relieving  him  from  the  drudgery  of  copying,  it  allowed  more 
time  for  painting,  and  a rather  important  picture  of  Kilchurn 
Castle  was  begun,  to  be  hung  on  the  staircase. 

In  February  “ French  and  English  ” was  begun.  My  hus- 
band was  particularly  qualified  to  give  an  impartial  compari- 
son of  the  habits,  institutions,  and  characteristics  of  the  two 
nations,  on  account  of  his  sympathies  with  both,  and  his  inti- 
mate knowledge  of  the  French  language  and  long  residence  in 
France,  during  which  his  inquisitive  mind  had  been  gather- 
ing endless  information  about  the  public  institutions  of  the 
country.  He  had  made  himself  perfectly  acquainted  with 
French  politics,  and  followed  with  great  interest  all  current 
events. 

The  system  of  public  instruction  in  France  had  become 
familiar  to  him  through  M.  Pelletier  (who  had  been  a member 
of  the  University  from  his  youth) ; and  he  had  not  neglected 
to  learn  from  the  several  ecclesiastics  with  whom  he  was 
acquainted,  what  he  wanted  to  know  about  the  constitution  of 
the  Boman  Catholic  Church  and  clergy. 

In  the  same  way  his  military  friends  told  him  what  he 
cared  to  learn  of  the  army.  He  had  for  a neighbor  M.  de 
Chatillon  (cousin  of  the  poet  and  painter,  A.  de  Chatillon), 
a retired  captain,  who  had  been  in  the  Crimea,  and  was 


494 


MEMOIR. 


wounded  in  the  Franco-Prussian  War;  also  a friend  and 
visitor,  another  captain,  M.  Kornprobst,  with  whom  he  made 
the  voyage  on  the  Saone.  The  colonel  of  the  regiment  quar- 
tered at  Autun,  M.  Mathieu,  who  had  fought  by  the  side  of 
the  English  in  the  Crimea,  came  sometimes  too,  to  talk  about 
past  days,  and  recalled  among  other  things  with  gratitude  and 
admiration  the  fare  of  which  he  had  partaken  on  board  an 
English  man-of-war.  Mr.  Hamerton  had  only  to  put  ques- 
tions to  one  of  these  officers  to  obtain  full  information  upon 
any  point  of  French  military  organization.  As  regards  national 
characteristics  in  individuals,  he  had  a rich  accumulation  of 
notes  and  observations,  both  in  his  pocket-books  and  in  his 
mind.  Very  observant  from  early  youth,  this  tendency  had 
been  quickened  by  the  contrasts  that  life  in  foreign  parts  con- 
stantly presented. 

It  had  been  decided  that  the  Phone  voyage  should  be  aban- 
doned for  one  on  the  Saone;  and  Mr.  Hamerton  was  in  active 
correspondence  with  Mr.  Seeley  about  the  choice  of  an  artist 
to  illustrate  the  book.  Both  of  them  were  great  admirers  of 
Mr.  Pennell’s  talent,  and  they  agreed  to  make  him  a proposal. 

Mr.  Pennell,  having  been  overworked  and  feeling  rather 
nervous  and  unwell,  thought  that  the  contemplated  voyage 
would  be  the  very  thing  to  restore  his  health.  He  would 
have  perfect  tranquillity  on  the  peaceful  river,  and  he  might 
sketch  at  his  leisure,  without  hurry;  so  he  gladly  accepted 
the  hospitality  offered  him  on  board  the  “ Boussemroum.  ” 

The  plan  of  accommodation  on  this  boat  has  been  explained 
exhaustively  by  the  author  of  “The  Saone,”  but  I think  I 
may  give  a few  brief  indications  of  the  arrangements  for 
readers  unacquainted  with  the  book. 

Mr.  Hamerton  hired  a large  river-boat  called  the  “Bous- 
semroum,” and  two  men  to  manage  it  and  do  the  cooking.  A 
donkey,  “Zoulou,”  was  kept  on  board  to  tow  the  boat  when 
necessary,  and  in  the  course  of  the  voyage  a boy,  “ Franki,” 
was  engaged  to  drive  “ Zoulou.  ” Three  tents  had  been 
erected  for  the  passengers,  and  an  awning  was  placed  over 
part  of  a raised  platform  to  shelter  the  artists  at  work  from 
the  too  generous  heat  of  the  June  sunshine.  Each  tent  was 


MEMOIR. 


495 


furnished  as  a simple  bedroom,  with  an  iron  bedstead  and  a 
hammock,  washing  utensils,  chest,  table  for  drawing  or  writ- 
ing, and  mats  on  the  floor. 

Besides  Mr.  Pennell’s  tent  and  Mr.  Hamerton’s,  another 
had  been  reserved  for  Captain  Kornprobst,  who  was  to  under- 
take the  duties  of  the  commissariat.  There  was  nothing  so 
difficult  for  my  husband  as  to  turn  his  mind  from  intellectual 
or  artistic  thoughts  to  domestic  or  business  affairs;  he  was 
aware  of  it,  and  dreaded  interruptions  — and  the  fear  of  inter- 
ruptions — as  well  as  the  responsibility  of  keeping  his  float- 
ing home  so  regularly  provisioned  as  to  save  its  inmates  from 
becoming,  occasionally,  a prey  to  hunger  or  thirst.  Humbly 
confessing  his  shortcomings,  he  begged  his  friend,  Captain 
Kornprobst,  to  join  the  expedition  as  Purser  and  General 
Provider,  feeling  confident  that  if  he  consented  everything 
would  m,arclier  militairement.  It  was  an  immense  relief 
when  the  Captain  declared  himself  ready  and  willing  to 
assume  these  functions. 

Mr.  Pennell,  having  been  suddenly  obliged  to  go  to  Ant- 
werp for  a series  of  drawings,  could  not  be  free  at  the  time  of 
starting.  On  the  other  hand,  Captain  Kornprobst  had  been 
summoned,  the  boat  hired,  and  the  men’s  wages  were  run- 
ning, so  the  voyage  was  begun,  on  the  understanding  that 
Mr.  Pennell  would  join  the  party  as  soon  as  he  could  leave 
Antwerp,  probably  at  Corre  on  the  Upper  Sa6ne. 

On  arriving  at  Chalon-sur-Saone,  on  May  31,  Mr.  Hamerton 
was  met  by  the  Captain,  and  they  proceeded  at  once  to  the 
“ Boussemroum,”  which  they  put  in  order  as  it  moved  away. 
It  was  only  at  Gray,  on  June  6,  that  Mr.  Pennell  came  on 
board. 

It  has  been  said  in  some  notices  of  Mr.  Hamerton’s  life 
that  he  read  but  little;  nothing  could  be  more  opposed  to 
truth;  the  fact  is,  that  he  was  constantly  attempting  to 
bind  himself  by  rules  to  give  only  a certain  proportion  of 
his  time  to  reading,  and  when  he  travelled  he  was  sure  to 
have  among  his  luggage  a large  trunk  of  books.  Here  is  a 
list,  for  instance,  of  the  works  he  took  with  him  on  the 
Saone : — 


496 


MEMOIR. 


Royau,  “A  travers  les  Mots.” 

No  Name  Series,  “ Signor  Monaldini’s  Niece.” 
Poe,  “Poems.” 

“Italian  Conversation  Book.” 

Arnold,  “ Light  of  Asia.” 

Swinburne,  “Atalanta.” 

Auguez,  “ Histoire  de  France.” 

Amiers,  “ Olanda.” 

St.  Simon,  “ Louis  XIV.  et  sa  Cour.” 

Paradol,  “ La  France  Nouvelle.” 

Caesar,  “ De  Bello  Gallico.” 

Palgrave,  “ Golden  Treasury.” 

Milton,  “ Poems.” 

Milton,  do.  (modern  edition). 

Milton,  “Areopagitica.” 

Stevenson,  “ Inland  Voyage.” 

Stevenson,  “ Travels  with  a Donkey.” 

Byron,  “ Poems”  (4  vols.). 

Shakespeare,  “ Poems.” 

Helps,  “ Social  Pressure.” 

Gerson,  “ De  Imitatione.” 


The  adventures  of  the  voyage  having  been  narrated  in  “ The 
Saone,”  I shall  only  mention  the  incident  of  the  arrest, 
because  it  turned  out  to  be  a lucky  thing  that  I just  then 
happened  to  be  in  Paris.  It  must  be  explained  that  M. 
Pelletier,  having  been  entrusted  with  the  organization  of  one 
of  the  great  new  Lycees  — the  Lycde  Lakanal  at  Sceaux  — 
had  been  deprived  of  his  usual  vacation  in  1885,  and,  as  a 
little  compensation,  he  came  to  spend  the  Easter  of  1886  with 
us,  and  took  away  Mary,  who  was  to  stay  with  him  for  her 
yearly  music-lessons.  At  the  end  of  the  month  I took  advan- 
tage of  my  husband’s  absence  to  go  and  see  the  Paris  Salon, 
and  to  bring  back  our  daughter. 

On  June  25,  while  we  were  at  lunch  with  M.  Pelletier  and 
his  children,  and  making  merry  guesses  as  to  the  probable 
whereabouts  of  the  voyagers  on  the  Saone,  there  came  a tele- 
gram for  my  brother-in-law,  who  said  to  me,  after  reading 
it : 11  What  would  you  say  if  they  were  arrested  as  spies  ? ” 
We  all  laughed  at  the  idea,  and  I answered  that  it  would  be 


MEMOIR. 


497 


capital  material  for  a chapter.  “ Well  then,  since  you  take  it 
this  way,  I may  as  well  tell  you  that  it  is  a fact,  though  your 
husband  wishes  it  to  be  kept  from  you  till  he  is  released.  ” 

I began  to  fear  that  he  might  be  imprisoned,  and  that  his 
nervousness  would  return  in  confinement.  From  this  point  of 
view  the  consequences  seemed  alarming,  and  I wondered  what 
would  be  the  best  plan  to  set  him  free  as  soon  as  possible. 

My  brother-in-law  was  for  applying  to  the  English  Ambas- 
sador, but  I felt  pretty  sure  that  my  husband  would  write  to 
him,  and  that  negotiations  in  that  quarter  would  take  some 
time.  So  I went  straight  to  one  of  our  friends  who  had  a 
near  relation  holding  an  important  military  post  at  the  Elysee, 
and  who  might  be  of  great  help  on  this  occasion.  I told  my 
friend  what  had  happened,  and  he  promised  to  go  and  explain 
matters  to  his  relative,  and  to  obtain  speedily  an  order  of 
release  for  the  unlucky  travellers.  The  same  evening  I had 
a note  to  the  effect  that  the  Minister  of  War  had  sent  the 
desired  order  by  telegram. 

The  author  of  “ The  Saone  ” has  explained  why  the  voyage 
was  interrupted  at  Chalon.  The  second  part  was  to  be  made 
on  the  “ Arar,  ” and  the  erections  on  the  “ Boussemroum  ” 
were  to  be  demolished  and  the  tents  removed  before  the  boat 
was  returned  to  its  owner;  but  as  Mary  and  I had  expressed 
a wish  to  see  it  before  the  demolition,  we  went  to  Chalon, 
where  my  husband  took  us  on  board  and  explained  all  the 
contrivances,  which  were  very  ingenious. 

The  extraordinary  appearance  of  the  “ Boussemroum  ” with 
its  three  large  tents  attracted  quite  a crowd  on  the  quay  where 
it  was  moored,  and  as  we  made  our  way  towards  it  we  were 
followed  by  many  curious  eyes. 

Mr.  Pennell,  having  been  discouraged  and  disheartened  by 
the  loss  of  time  and  the  insecurity  of  his  situation  in  France, 
especially  since  he  had  failed  to  get  an  official  permission  to 
sketch  at  Lyons,  gave  up  all  idea  of  illustrating  the  Lower 
Saone.  What  was  to  be  done  with  the  book  ? Could  it  be 
published  in  an  incomplete  state  and  called  “ The  Upper 
Saone  ? ” In  that  case  the  work  would  be  of  small  impor- 
tance, after  all  the  preparations,  time,  and  money  spent  upon 

32 


498 


MEMOIR. 


it.  “Would  it  not  be  better  to  ask  another  artist  to  under- 
take the  remaining  part  ? ” asked  Mr.  Seeley.  But  he  would 
have  to  encounter  the  same  difficulties,  and  be  exposed  to  the 
same  vexations  — and,  after  all,  the  book  might  be  wanting 
in  harmony. 

At  last  Mr.  Pennell  offered  to  make  drawings  from  the 
author’s  sketches,  and  this  was  accepted.  My  husband  had 
already  in  his  possession  a great  number  of  studies  taken  at 
Chalon,  Macon,  and  upon  the  river  on  previous  cruises,  and 
they  might  be  utilized  in  this  way,  together  with  those  he 
could  still  make  during  the  vacation  on  the  “ Arar.  ” 

In  the  interval  between  the  two  boat  voyages,  Mr.  Hamer- 
ton  devoted  himself  almost  exclusively  to  writing  “ French 
and  English  ” for  the  “ Atlantic  Monthly,”  and  “ The  Saone.” 
He  also  took  some  precautions  in  view  of  the  next  cruise, 
and  when  he  started  for  it,  with  Stephen  and  Maurice,  he 
was  provided  with  a passport  and  a recommendation  from  the 
English  Ambassador. 

The  voyage  was  a pleasant  one,  and  ended  prosperously, 
but  it  soon  became  evident  that  the  book  could  not  be  pub- 
lished before  the  next  year,  mainly  because  the  stereotype 
plates  could  not  have  reached  America  before  December,  and 
the  publishers  then  would  still  have  to  print  and  bind  the 
book. 

Roberts  Brothers  said  about  it : — 

“ We  are  very  glad  you  have  decided  to  postpone  the  publication 
of  the  boat  voyage  till  next  year.  You  will  see  by  our  account  that 
we  allow  you  nothing  on  the  cheap  edition  of  the  ‘Intellectual 
Life.’  Thank  the  pirates  for  it. 

“ Mrs.  Hamerton’s  ‘ Golden  Mediocrity  ’ has  passed  through  a 
second  edition ; the  first  was  1,000  copies.” 

This  last  book  was  a novelette  that  I had  written  at  the 
instigation  of  Roberts  Brothers,  and  which  had  been  corrected 
by  my  husband. 

The  illustrations  needed  for  the  completion  of  “ The  Saone  ” 
took  a great  deal  of  Mr.  Hamerton’s  time  in  1886.  Early  in 
January  he  went  to  Chalon  to  take  several  sketches,  which  he 


MEMOIR. 


499 


worked  out  afterwards  in  pen-and-ink.  We  took  the  oppor- 
tunity of  this  journey  to  see  a few  houses  which  had  been 
recommended  to  us  as  possible  future  residences,  La  Tuilerie 
requiring  expensive  repairs  that  we  were  not  inclined  to 
undertake,  because  every  time  we  made  any  our  rent  was 
raised,  — no  doubt  because  it  was  thought  that  just  after  a 
fresh  outlay  we  should  not  be  disposed  to  leave.  But  we 
found  the  house-rents  much  higher  about  Chalon  than  in  our 
neighborhood,  and  although  Gilbert  was  fond  of  the  Saone  — 
particularly  for  boating  — he  was  far  from  admiring  the  land- 
scape as  much  as  that  of  the  Autunois,  from  a painter’s  point 
of  view.  After  much  consideration  we  decided  to  go  through 
the  unavoidable  repairs,  and  to  renew  qur  lease. 

I suppose  that  the  Saone  voyage  had  directed  my  husband’s 
thoughts  towards  boats  more  than  ever,  for  his  diary  is  full  of 
notes  about  them.  I shall  only  give  a few  to  show  the  drift 
of  his  mind. 

“ Made  a sketch  for  a possible  triple  catamaran. 

“ Made  an  elevation  of  hull  for  the  ‘ Morvandelle,’  using  an  eleva- 
tion of  a quickly  turning  steamer  in  ‘ Le  Yacht,’ and  improving 
upon  it. 

“ Made  a new  balancer  for  canoe. 

“ Began  to  prepare  pirogue  with  marine  glue  before  putting  the 
rudder-post. 

“ Lengthened  cross-pieces ; completed  beam  for  catamaran,  add- 
ing details  of  ironwork. 

“ Demolished  old  balancer  log  of  canoe,  and  began  to  saw  it  to 
make  a little  bridge. 

“Found  that  boiling  wood  was  the  best  plan  for  bending  it; 
steaming  is  too  troublesome. 

“ Thought  much  about  sails. 

“ Wrote  a letter  to  ‘ Yacht  ’ about  invention  of  paper-boats.” 

In  October  he  began  to  write  for  “ Le  Yacht  ” a history  of 
catamarans,  which  was  highly  appreciated  by  the  readers  of 
that  paper. 

In  the  course  of  that  year  he  also  wrote  a long  and  careful 
review  of  “ L’ Art  ” for  “ Longmans’  Magazine,”  “ Conversa- 
tions on  Book  Illustrations,”  and  a review  of  Mr.  Ernest 
George’s  etchings.  He  also  worked  at  the  autobiography. 


500 


MEMOIR. 


It  was  a real  sorrow  for  my  husband  to  hear  that  in  con- 
sequence of  the  demise  of  Mr.  John  Hamerton,  Hellifield 
Peel  and  the  estate  were  for  sale  and  likely  to  go  out  of  the 
family.  He  had  been  considerately  offered  the  first  option  of 
purchase , and  he  wrote  in  the  diary,  “ How  I wish  I had  the 
money!  ” 

In  January,  1887,  he  wrote  to  Mr.  Seeley:  — 

“We  are  rather  troubled  by  the  possibility  of  a war  between 
France  and  Germany.  The  French  papers  take  the  thing  coolly, 
but  the  English  ones,  especially  the  ‘ Daily  News,’  are  extremely 
pessimist.  If  there  is  war  I mean  to  come  to  England,  having 
had  enough  anxiety  and  interrupted  communications  during  the 
last  war.  My  sons  would  probably  both  volunteer  into  the  French 
army  in  defence  of  their  mother’s  country,  as  it  would  be  a duel  of 
life  and  death  between  Germany  and  France  this  time.  If  you 
and  Mrs.  Seeley  visit  the  Continent  in  the  spring  you  may  perhaps 
witness  a battle.  I have  seen  just  one,  and  heard  the  cannonade  of 
another  — sensations  never  to  be  forgotten.” 

In  the  spring  he  had  had  an  attack  of  gout,  in  consequence 
of  working  at  the  boats  instead  of  going  out.  He  bore  it 
with  his  usual  philosophy  — trying  to  read  or  write  whenever 
the  pain  was  supportable.  It  happened  during  the  Easter 
vacation,  and  Stephen  used  to  sit  up  late  into  the  night  to 
keep  his  father  company. 

At  the  end  of  the  vacation  Richard,  who  had  obtained  a 
post  in  Paris,  took  his  sister  with  him,  and  in  June,  Gilbert 
being  now  quite  well,  I went  to  fetch  her  back.  M.  Dela- 
borde  had  recommended  her  the  study  of  harmony,  and  we 
found  an  able  professor  in  M.  Laurent,  the  organist  of  the 
cathedral  at  Autun. 

It  was  with  great  satisfaction  that  her  father  noticed  her 
application  and  success  in  this  arduous  study.  He  considered 
it,  like  algebra,  an  excellent  discipline  for  the  mind  — too 
often  wanting  in  a feminine  education. 

Against  all  expectations  “ The  Sa6ne  ” did  not  sell  well. 
It  was  unaccountable ; the  illustrations  were  numerous  and 
varied,  picturesque,  and  greatly  admired  by  artists,  — Rajon 


MEMOIR. 


501 


in  particular' was  charmed  with  them,  — but  it  appears  that 
their  sin  consisted  in  not  being  etchings;  so  at  least  said  the 
booksellers,  as  if  the  author’s  works  were  never  to  he  illus- 
trated in  any  other  way.  The  subject  was  new,  and  presented 
in  felicitous  style;  the  reviews  were  hearty;  but  in  spite  of 
all  that  could  be  said  in  its  favor,  the  book  never  became 
a popular  one.  Mr.  Seeley  had  mentioned  in  a letter  the 
uncertainty  of  the  publishing  business,  and  my  husband 
answered : — 

“ What  you  say  about  the  lottery  of  publishing  is  confirmed  by 
the  experience  of  others.  Macmillan  said  to  me  one  day,  ‘ As  one 
gets  older  and  certainly  more  experienced  one  ought  to  get  wiser, 
but  it  does  not  seem  to  be  so  in  publishing,  for  I am  just  as  liable 
to  error  now  in  my  speculations  as  I was  many  years  ago.’  Evi- 
dently Roberts  Brothers  are  the  same.” 

The  subject  of  “ French  and  English  ” seemed  too  impor- 
tant to  Mr.  Hamerton  to  be  adequately  treated  in  a few  arti- 
cles, and  he  decided  to  give  it  proper  development  in  a book, 
for  which  all  his  accumulated  observations  would  become 
useful.  He  proposed  it  to  Messrs.  Macmillan,  warning  them 
that,  as  he  intended  to  be  impartial,  they  might  find  that  his 
opinions  — conscientiously  given  — would  often  be  at  variance 
with  those  generally  accepted.  Mr.  Craik  answered:  “As 
to  ‘ French  and  English  * I do  not  think  that  it  matters  in 
the  least  that  you  differ  from  the  opinions  of  others.”  Then 
he  went  on  to  say : “ I hope  to  hear  from  you  about  a large 
illustrated  book  for  1889,  and  we  will  gladly  go  into  the 
matter  with  you  when  you  have  got  an  idea  into  your  head.” 

In  the  autumn  we  learned  with  deep  regret  the  death  of 
our  dear  cousin,  Ben  Hinde.  My  husband  conveyed  it  to  his 
friend  M.  Schmitt  in  the  following  letter : — 

“ J’ai  re§u  ces  jours-ci  la  triste  nouvelle  que  mou  cousin  — le 
pretre  anglican  que  j’aimais  comme  un  frfere,  a succomb^  a une 
assez  longue  maladie.  Ce  qu’il  y a de  plus  penible  c’est  la  position 
de  sa  soeur  qui  s’dtait  entikrement  ddvou^e  a lui  et  k la  paroisse. 
Elle  a vecu  toute  sa  vie  au  presbvtfere,  et  maintenant,  son  frkre 
mort,  il  va  falloir  qu’elle  s’en  aille.  Elle  a une  petite  fortune  qui 


502 


MEMOIR. 


suffira  a ses  besoms,  et  j’ai  l’immense  satisfaction  de  penser  que 
c’est  moi  qui  ai  pu  sauver  cet  argent  des  griffes  d’executeurs  tes- 
tamentaires  mal  intentionnes.  Je  les  ai  forces  k payer  quarante 
mille  francs.  Ma  cousine  supporte  son  sort  avec  un  courage  par- 
fait.  Je  n’ai  jamais  rencontr^  une  foi  religieuse  aussi  parfaite  que 
la  sienne.  Pour  elle,  la  mort  d’un  Chretien  est  un  heureux  evene- 
ment  qu’elle  celebrerait  volontiers  par  des  rejouissances.  Elle  n’y 
voit  absolument  que  la  naissance  au  ciel.  Ceci  l’expose  k etre  tr&s 
mdconnue.  Quand  elle  perd  un  parent  elle  est  trks  gaie  et  on  peut 
s’imaginer  qu’elle  est  sans  coeur.  Elle  va  se  devouer  entice- 
ment k ses  pauvres ; elle  vit  absolument  de  la  vie  d’une  soeur- 
de-charit^,  sans  le  titre. 

“ La  mort  de  mon  cousin,  et  peut-etre  l’dloignement  de  ma 
cousine,  me  laisseront,  pour  ainsi  dire,  sans  parents.  Je  ne  re- 
grette  pas  de  m’§tre  donnd  une  nouvelle  famille  en  France,  et 
je  me  fdlicite  des  bonnes  relations,  si  franchement  cordiales,  que 
j’ai  avec  mes  deux  beaux-frkres  et  avec  ma  beUe-soeur.” 

Some  time  later  he  wrote  to  the  same  friend:  — 

“ Nous  avons  fait  un  charmant  voyage  sur  la  Saone,  de  Macon  k 
Verdun  avec  retour  k Chalon  — une  flanerie  k voile  avec  toutes  les 
varidtds  de  temps : vents  forts  et  vents  faibles,  calmes  plats  (c’est 
le  moins  agrdable),  bourrasques,  beau  temps,  pluie,  clair-de-lune, 
obscurity  presque  complete,  splendeurs  du  soleil.  Comme  nous 
voyageons  k toute  heure  du  jour  et  de  la  nuit,  nous  vbyons  la 
nature  sous  tous  les  aspects  imaginables.  Cela  renouvelle  pour 
moi  cette  intimite  avec  la  nature  qui  dtait  un  des  plus  grands 
bonheurs  de  ma  jeunesse. 

“ C’est  k peu  prks  le  seul  genre  de  voyage  que  j’aime  reellement, 
et  c’est  le  seul  qui  me  fasse  du  bien.” 

Note  in  the  diary : — 

“January  13,  1888.  Fought  nearly  all  day  against  a difficulty 
about  4 French  and  English,’  and  decided  to  divide  the  book  into 
large  sections  and  small  chapters,  divisions  and  subdivisions. 
Chapters  to  be  confined  strictly  to  their  special  subjects.” 

It  became  the  main  work  of  the  year,  with  the  articles  on 
catamarans  for  the  “Yacht,”  and  the  numerous  drawings  to 
illustrate  them.  The  autobiography  was  also  carried  forward. 


MEMOIR. 


503 


Our  little  pony,  Cocote,  was  growing  old  and  rheumatic, 
and  could  no  longer  render  much  service.  My  husband  was 
unwilling  to  make  her  work  at  the  cost  of  pain,  and  we  found 
it  impossible  to  do  without  a reliable  horse  at  such  a distance 
from  Autun. 

As  Cocote  was  not  always  unfit  for  work  — only  at  intervals 
— her  master  decided  to  buy  a horse  that  he  might  ride  when 
the  pony  could  manage  the  carriage  work.  He  chose  a young, 
nice-looking  mare  at  a neighboring  farm,  and  took  great 
pleasure  in  riding  her  every  day;  this  regular  habit  of  exer- 
cise in  the  open  air  was  of  great  benefit  to  his  health. 

The  death  of  Paul  Rajon,  which  occurred  in  the  summer, 
was  deeply  lamented  by  my  husband,  who,  besides  his  great 
appreciation  of  the  artist’s  exquisite  talent,  entertained  for 
him  sentiments  of  real  friendship.  When  we  came  to  live  at 
Paris,  he  made  a pilgrimage  to  his  house,  and  to  his,  alas! 
neglected  tomb  at  Auvers. 

In  August,  Mr.  Seeley  wished  to  republish  in  book  form 
some  of  Mr.  Hamerton’s  contributions  to  the  “Portfolio,” 
and  to  give  his  portrait  as  a frontispiece.  He  wrote  about 
it : “ My  traveller  says  he  is  continually  asked  for  your 
portrait.  If  Jeens  were  living  I would  ask  him  to  engrave 
it,  but  as  we  have  no  one  approaching  him  in  skill,  perhaps 
the  safest  plan  would  be  a photogravure  from  a negative  taken 
on  purpose.” 

My  husband  suggested  that  perhaps  Mr.  H.  Manesse  might 
etch  the  portrait  satisfactorily.  Mr.  Seeley  thought  it  an  ex- 
cellent idea,  and  said  he  was  willing  to  give  the  commission. 

Mr.  H.  Manesse  arrived  on  October  17,  and  set  to  work 
immediately.  He  was  most  assiduous,  and  progressed  happily 
with  his  work.  His  model  drove  him  out  every  day  — the 
weather  being  fine,  — and  they  derived  pleasure  from  each 
other’s  society,  being  both  interested  in  the  beauty  of  nature 
and  in  artistic  subjects. 


504 


MEMOIR. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

1888-1890. 

“ Man  in  Art  ” begun.  — Family  events.  — Mr.  G.  F.  Watts.  — Mr.  Bodley. 

— “ French  and  English.” 

After  long  reflections  given  to  the  choice  of  a subject  for 
a new  illustrated  hook,  Mr.  Hamerton  thought  that  after 
“ Landscape  in  Art,”  “ Man  in  Art  ” would  be  interesting  as 
a study. 

Mr.  Craik  wrote:  “ ‘Man  in  Art’  is  an  excellent  idea;  you 
will  find  us  ready  to  embark  on  it  with  sanguine  expectation. 
You  will  later  tell  me  your  ideas  of  illustrating  — it  ought 
to  be  well  done  in  this  particular;  but  if  there  is  a chance 
of  your  coming  to  England  next  winter  we  might  settle  this 
better  in  talk.” 

In  the  spring  Stephen  and  Richard  came  as  usual  for  the 
Easter  vacation,  but  our  younger  son’s  altered  looks  and  ways 
greatly  disquieted  us.  In  the  last  year  he  had  evinced  a 
growing  disinclination  to  society  and  pleasure;  his  former 
liveliness,  gayety,  and  love  of  jokes  had  been  replaced  by 
an  obvious  preference  for  solitude,  and,  as  it  seemed  to 
us,  melancholy  brooding.  To  our  anxious  inquiries  he  had 
answered  that  he  was  nervous,  and  suffering  from  mental  un- 
rest and  insomnia.  His  tone  of  voice  was  now  despondent, 
and  if  he  spoke  of  the  future  it  was  with  bitterness  and  lassi- 
tude. He  had  been  so  bright,  so  confident  in  his  powers,  so 
full  of  praiseworthy  ambition,  so  ready  to  enjoy  life,  that 
this  sudden  change  surprised  all  his  friends  and  gave  great 
anxiety  to  his  parents.  I begged  his  father  to  question  him 
about  his  health,  and  to  advise  him  to  get  a conge  which  he 
could  spend  in  the  country  with  us,  and  during  which  he 
might  rest  thoroughly. 


MEMOIR. 


505 


But  I was  told  that  he  had  not  borne  the  questioning 
patiently.  He  had  answered  that  he  was  “ only  nervous  . . . 
very  nervous,  and  wanted  peace.”  How  different  was  this 
answer  from  the  one  he  had  given  three  years  before  to 
another  inquiry  of  his  father  when  he  was  going  to  his  first 
post. 

“ Richard,  I can  give  you  no  fortune  to  start  you  in  life  — 
education  was  all  I could  afford,  so  you  will  have  to  make 
your  own  way.  You  are  now  strong  and  well,  but  you  have 
been  a delicate  child,  and  have  often  suffered  physically. 
Now,  considering  all  this  — are  you  happy  ? ” 

“Happy?”  he  had  readily  answered,  “I  am  very  happy; 
I enjoy  life  exceedingly.  As  to  money  matters,  I can  truly 
say  that  I would  not  exchange  the  education  you  have  given 
me  for  three  thousand  pounds.” 

My  husband  attempted  to  calm  my  sad  forebodings  by  tell- 
ing me  that  there  is  generally  a crisis  in  the  life  of  a boy 
before  he  becomes  a man,  and  he  concluded  persuasively  by 
saying:  “ C’est  un  homme  qui  va  sortir  de  la.”  But  I felt 
that  his  own  mind  was  still  full  of  care. 

When  the  time  of  my  yearly  departure  for  Paris  came 
round,  I recommended  Gilbert  to  hire  a tricycle,  and  try  to 
get  a change  of  exercise  by  alternately  riding  his  horse  and 
his  velocipede,  and  he  promised  to  do  so. 

For  some  time  I had  been  desirous  to  join  Mary,  on  ac- 
count of  her  confidences  about  the  probability  of  her  becom- 
ing engaged.  Of  these  confidences  I said  nothing  to  her 
father,  as  I had  made  it  a rule  not  to  disturb  him  about  any 
projects  of  marriage  for  his  daughter  till  I felt  satisfied 
that  everything  was  suitable  and  likely  to  lead  to  a happy 
result.  His  love  for  Mary  was  so  tender,  his  fears  of  any 
match  which  would  not  secure  for  her  the  greatest  pos- 
sible amount  of  happiness  so  great,  his  dread  of  the  una- 
voidable separation  so  keen,  that  I avoided  the  subject  as 
much  as  possible. 

When  I arrived  at  Bourg-la-Reine,  I was  disappointed  not 
to  see  Richard  at  the  station,  with  his  sister  and  cousins 
awaiting  me,  as  he  had  done  the  year  before,  but  I tried  not 


506 


MEMOIR. 


to  seem  to  notice  it.  He  came,  however,  on  the  following 
day  and  breakfasted  with  us  at  his  uncle’s.  He  appeared 
cheerful  enough  when  he  talked,  but  as  soon  as  he  was  silent 
his  features  resumed  the  downcast  expression  they  had  worn 
for  some  time,  and  he  was  ashy  pale. 

Being  obliged  to  take  Mary  to  her  last  music-lesson,  I 
asked  Richard  when  I should  see  him  again  1 . . . He  gave 
me  a kiss,  and  said  “ To-morrow.”  There  was  to  be  no  mor- 
row for  him. 

When,  after  vainly  waiting  for  him,  the  cruel  news  of  his 
tragic  end  was  broken  to  us  by  M.  Pelletier,  when  we  learned 
that  the  poor  boy  had  committed  suicide,  my  sorrow  was 
rendered  almost  unbearable  by  apprehension  for  my  husband. 
I had  long  feared  that  there  might  be  something  wrong  with 
his  heart,  and  now  I became  a prey  to  the  most  torturing  fore- 
bodings. My  daughter  and  brother-in-law  shared  in  them, 
and  M.  Pelletier  approved  my  resolution  to  leave  Paris  im- 
mediately and  endeavor  to  be  with  Gilbert  before  the  delivery 
of  the  newspapers. 

Mary  and  I left  by  the  first  train  we  could  take,  and 
arrived  at  La  Tuilerie  shortly  before  eleven  at  night.  My 
husband  divined  at  once  that  there  was  some  great  calamity, 
but  his  fears  were  for  M.  Pelletier.  When  he  knew  the 
truth,  he  silently  wrapped  me  in  his  arms,  pressing  me  to  his 
bosom,  within  which  I felt  the  laboring  heart  beating  with 
such  violence  that  I thought  it  could  but  break.  . . . 

The  courage  of  which  my  husband  gave  proofs  in  this  bitter 
trial  was  mainly  derived  from  his  pitiful  sympathy  for  those 
whose  weakness  he  supported.  He  sought  relief  in  work, 
but  did  not  easily  find  it.  There  is  the  same  plaintive  entry 
in  the  diary  for  some  weeks : “ Tried  to  work ; not  fit  for 
it.”  “Tried  to  do  something;  not  very  well.”  “Not  fit  for 
much;  succeeded  in  reading  a little  ” “Attempted  to  write 
a few  letters.  Rather  unwell.”  Then  he  gave  up  the  diary 
for  some  time. 

More  than  ever  I felt  reluctant  to  tell  him  of  what  had 


MEMOIR. 


507 


happened  to  Mary,  and  of  the  probability  of  her  marriage; 
however,  she  had  been  so  sorely  tried  by  the  loss  of  her 
brother,  that  it  was  imperative  to  turn  her  thoughts  from 
it,  as  much  as  possible,  to  other  prospects.  This  conviction 
decided  me  to  tell  her  father  everything,  and  it  was  a great 
relief  to  hear  that  he  shared  my  views  entirely.  Although 
I had  learned  long  since  how  little  he  considered  his  own 
comfort  in  comparison  with  that  of  those  dear  to  him,  how 
unselfish  he  was  — in  affection  as  in  other  matters  — I must 
avow  that  I was  unprepared  for  the  readiness  of  his  self- 
sacrifice  in  this  case.  We  were  both  of  opinion  that  if  all 
went  well,  the  marriage  should  take  place  as  early  as  possi- 
ble, so  as  to  bring  a thorough  change  in  the  clouded  existence 
of  our  daughter. 

Note  in  the  diary:  “ Monsieur  Raillard  this  morning  asked 
Mary  to  marry  him,  with  my  consent,  and  she  accepted  him. 
Day  passed  pleasantly.  I drove  Raillard  and  his  mother  to 
the  station.” 

It  now  became  necessary  to  make  preparations  for  the 
wedding,  which  was  to  take  place  in  the  beginning  of 
September.  For  the  choice  of  an  apartment  and  its  furni- 
ture my  husband  himself  considerately  suggested  my  going 
again  to  Paris  with  Mary,  where  we  would  meet  M.  Raillard 
and  consult  his  tastes.  Accordingly  I left  La  Tuilerie 
very  reluctantly  after  the  great  and  recent  shock  my  hus- 
band had  experienced.  I am  convinced  it  was  due  to  the 
manful  effort  he  made  not  to  increase  my  distress  by  the 
sight  of  his  own  that  he  conquered  his  nervousness  from 
that  time,  and  was  even  able  to  strengthen  and  support  me 
on  my  too  frequent  breakdowns.  He  attributed  Richard’s 
desperate  action  partly  to  depression  arising  from  the  effects 
of  an  accident,  confided  only  to  his  brother,  but  partly  also 
to  the  influence  of  unhealthy  and  pessimist  literature  on  a 
mind  already  diseased,  and  he  had  said  so  to  Mr.  Seeley, 
who  answered : — 

“ I am  sure  that  poor  Richard  came  under  the  influence  of  pure 
and  noble  examples.  It  may  be  that  there  was  actual  brain  dis- 
ease, though  of  a nature  that  no  surgeon  at  present  has  skill  to 


508 


MEMOIR. 


detect.  I suppose  it  is  possible  that  disease  in  the  organ  of 
thought  may  be  accelerated  or  retarded  by  the  nature  of  the 
thoughts  suggested  in  daily  life  or  conversation ; and  I suppose 
every  one  believes  that  in  such  disorders  there  may  come  a time 
when  the  will,  without  blame,  is  overmastered. 

“ As  to  the  bad  literature  of  the  day,  I believe  our  feelings  are 
quite  in  unison.  What  an  awful  responsibility  for  the  happiness 
of  families  rests  upon  successful  authors  — and  upon  publishers 
too ! ” 


The  letters  of  condolence  and  sympathy  were  numerous  and 
heartfelt;  some  came  late,  for  the  friends  who  had  known 
Richard  in  his  bright  and  merry  days  refused  to  believe  that 
it  was  the  same  Richard  who  had  come  to  so  tragic  an  end;, 
they  thought  it  was  a coincidence  of  name.  I only  give  Mr. 
Beljame’s  letter  to  show  how  the  poor  boy  had  endeared  him- 
self to  every  one,  and  in  what  esteem  he  was  generally  held. 
All  the  other  letters  expressed  the  same  sentiments  in  different 
words. 


“ 8 juillet  1889. 

“ Je  suis  bien  sensible,  Monsieur,  k votre  lettre,  ou  vous  m’as- 
sociez,  en  des  termes  qui  me  touchent  profonddment,  au  souvenir 
de  votre  fils  Richard,  mon  cher  et  excellent  dleve. 

“ C’etait  pour  moi,  non  seulement  un  disciple  dont  je  me  faisais 
honneur,  mais  aussi  un  veritable  ami,  et  depuis  son  installation  k 
Paris,  j'avais  eu  grand  plaisir  k l’accueillir  dans  ma  famille.  Les 
details  que  vous  voulez  bien  me  donner,  m’expliquent  pourquoi, 
dans  ces  derniers  mois,  ses  visites  dtaient,  k mon  grand  regret, 
devenues  de  plus  en  plus  rares. 

“ Sa  fin  si  inattendue,  alors  que  la  vie  semblait  de  tous  cotes  lui 
sourire,  a etd  pour  moi  une  douloureuse  surprise ; j’ai  ref  usd 
d’abord  d’y  croire;  c’est  pourquoi  jene.vous  ai  pas  tout  de  suite 
ecrit. 

“ J’ai  tenu  a me  joindre  k ceux  qui  lui  ont  rendu  les  derniers  de- 
voirs; et  j’ai  chargd  alors  votre  fils  aind  et  votre  beau-frdre  d’etre 
mes  interprdtes  auprds  de  vous. 

“ A des  malheurs  comine  celui  qui  vient  de  vous  frapper  il  n’y  a 
pas  de  consolation  possible.  Si  c’est  au  moins  un  adoucissement 
de  savoir  que  celui  qui  n’est  plus  laisse  derriere  lui  de  souvenir 
d’un  esprit  d’dlite,  d’une  nature  aimante  et  aimable,  soyez  assurd 
que  tels  sont  bien  les  sentiments  que  votre  fils  ainspirds  a tous  ceux 


MEMOIR. 


509 


qui  l’ont  connu,  k ses  camarades  de  la  Sorbonne,  qui  1’avaient  en 
affection  particulifere,  a ses  coll&gues  — mais  k nul  plus  qu’k  son 
ancien  maitre  qui  vous  envoie  aujourd’hui,  ainsi  qu’k  Madame 
Hamerton,  l’expression  de  sa  triste  et  respectueuse  sympathie. 

“ A.  Beljame.” 

When  Mr.  Seeley  was  told  of  Mary’s  engagement,  he 
wrote:  “We  are  very  glad  to  hear  of  Mary’s  engagement,  and 
we  wish  her  all  possible  happiness.  But  because  you  and 
I are  so  nearly  of  an  age,  I cannot  help  thinking  most  of 
you,  and  thinking  what  the  loss  to  you  and  to  Mrs.  Hamerton 
will  be.” 

In  preceding  years  Mary’s  brothers  and  cousins  had  often 
made  projects  in  expectation  of  her  marriage,  but  under  the 
present  painful  circumstances  it  was  understood  that  only 
relations  would  be  invited.  Still  the  disturbance  in  our 
habits  could  not  be  avoided,  as  we  had  to  provide  lodgings 
for  twenty  people.  My  husband  gave  up  his  laboratory  and 
his  studio  and  with  the  help  of  the  boys  transformed  the 
hay-loft  into  working  premises.  He  got  carpenters  to  fit  up 
the  big  laundry  as  a dining-room,  under  his  directions,  and 
when  fresh-looking  mats  covered  the  tiles,  and  when  the  huge 
chimney-piece,  the  walls,  and  the  doors  were  ornamented  with 
tall  ferns,  shiny  hollies,  and  blooming  heather,  of  which 
Stephen  and  his  cousins  had  gathered  a cartful,  the  effect  was 
very  charming. 

My  husband  had  to  be  reminded  several  times  to  order  new 
clothes  for  the  ceremony,  — a visit  to  his  tailor  being  one  of 
the  things  he  most  disliked,  — and  being  indisposed  to  give  a 
thought  to  the  fit,  he  used  to  decline  all  responsibility  in  the 
matter  by  making  me  a judge  of  it.  His  fancy  had  been  once 
tickled  by  hearing  a market-woman  say  that,  though  she  did 
not  know  my  name,  she  identified  me  as  “ la  petite  Dame 
difficile,”  and  he  called  me  so  when  I found  fault  with  his 
attire. 

A few  days  before  the  wedding  he  had  gone  to  Autun,  to 
fetch  different  things  in  the  carriage,  among  them  his  dress- 
coat  and  frock-coat,  and  after  putting  on  the  last,  came  for 
my  verdict.  “ It  fits  badly ; it  is  far  too  large.  ”...  Then 


510 


MEMOIR. 


I was  interrupted  by  — “I  was  sure  of  it;  now  what  is  wrong 
with  it?”  “Wrong?  why  everything  is  wrong;  the  cloth 
itself  is  not  black  — it  looks  faded  and  rusty  — why,  it  can’t 
be  new!  ” “Not  new!  . . . and  I bring  it  straight  from  the 
tailor’s.  Really,  your  inclination  to  criticism  is  beyond  — ” 
He  was  getting  somewhat  impatient,  for  the  time  given  to 
trying  on  was,  in  his  estimate,  so  much  time  lost.  “ It  is  an 
old  coat,”  I nevertheless  said  decisively.  “Your  tailor  has 
made  a mistake,  that ’s  all.”  “ I am  certain  it  is  my  coat,” 
he  answered,  quite  angrily  this  time.  “I  feel  at  ease  in  it; 
the  pockets  are  just  in  their  right  place;  ” and  as  he  plunged 
his  hands  deliberately  in  the  convenient  pockets,  he  drew  out 
of  one  an  old  “ Daily  News,”  and  from  the  other  a worn-out 
pair  of  gloves.  His  amazement  was  indescribable,  but  he 
soon  joined  in  the  general  merriment  at  his  expense  — for 
Mary  and  Jeanne,  the  cousins,  and  even  M.  Pelletier,  had 
been  called  as  umpires  to  decide  the  case  between  us.  The 
new  coat  had  been  left  in  the  dressing-room , and  it  was  the 
old  one,  given  as  a pattern  to  the  tailor,  which  had  been  tried 
on.  The  best  of  it  was  that  on  the  day  of  the  ceremony 
Gilbert  committed  the  same  mistake;  luckily  I perceived  it 
when  he  had  still  time  to  change. 

He  attached  so  little  importance  to  his  toilet  that  he  never 
knew  when  he  was  in  want  of  anything,  yet  his  appearance 
was  never  untidy,  in  spite  of  his  omissions.  I remember 
a little  typical  incident  about  this  disinclination  to  give  a 
thought  to  needful  though  prosaic  details.  Before  leaving  for 
England  on  one  occasion,  I had  repeatedly  called  his  atten- 
tion to  what  he  required  — in  particular  a warm  winter  suit 
and  an  overcoat.  He  had  promised  several  times  to  order 
them,  but  when  the  day  of  our  departure  arrived  he  had  for- 
gotten all  about  it.  “ It ’s  no  matter,”  he  said;  “ I shall  get 
them  ready-made  in  London,  and  with  the  chic  anglais  too.” 
In  England  we  found  the  temperature  already  severe,  and  I 
urged  him  to  make  his  purchases.  On  the  very  same  day, 
he  announced  complacently  that  he  had  made  them,  and  they 
were  to  be  sent  on  the  morrow.  He  was  quite  proud  of 
having  got  through  the  business,  particularly  because  he  had 


MEMOIR. 


511 


bought  two  suits,  though  he  needed  only  one.  “The  other 
would  turn  out  useful  some  time,”  he  said.  And  lo!  when 
the  box  was  opened,  I discovered  that  instead  of  clothes  fit 
for  visits,  he  had  been  persuaded  to  accept  a sort  of  shooting- 
jacket  of  coarse  gray  tweed,  waistcoat  and  trousers  to  match, 
with  a pair  of  boots  only  fit  for  mountaineering.  When  I 
told  him  my  opinion,  he  acknowledged  it  to  be  right,  but 
said  the  tailor  had  assured  him  that  “ they  would  be  lasting.” 
And  he  added:  “I  was  in  a hurry,  having  to  go  to  the 
National  Gallery,  and  I felt  confident  the  man  would  know 
what  I wanted,  after  telling  him.” 

Mary  was  married  on  September  3?  and  she  was  so  much 
loved  in  the  village  that  every  cottage  sent  at  least  one  of 
its  members  to  the  ceremony;  the  children  whom  she  had 
taught,  and  in  whom  she  had  always  taken  so  much  interest, 
came  in  numbers,  and  the  evident  respectful  affection  of  these 
simple  people  quite  moved  and  impressed  the  parents  of  M. 
Raillard.  Her  father  was  also  pleased  with  the  presence  of 
all  our  neighbors  and  friends,  and  he  went  through  the  try- 
ing day  with  entire  self-command.  But  when  the  birds  had 
flown  away  the  nest  seemed  empty  and  silent  indeed,  and  to 
fill  up  the  time  till  their  return,  I thought  a little  cruise  on 
wheels  would  be  the  best  diversion. 

The  weather  was  still  fine  and  warm  enough  for  working 
from  nature,  and  preparations  were  made  for  a sketching  tour, 
in  which  M.  Pelletier  would  accompany  his  brother-in-law 
while  the  house  was  put  to  rights  again. 

They  started  with  Cadette,  and  went  successively  to  Etang, 
Toulon-sur-Arroux,  St.  Nizier,  Charbonnat,  Luzy,  La  Roche- 
Millay,  St.  Leger,  l’Etang-des-Poissons,  and  La  Grande- 
Verriere, — a most  picturesque  excursion,  from  which  my 
husband  brought  back  several  interesting  studies. 

The  day  after  the  return,  M.  Pelletier  and  his  family  left 
us,  my  brother,  his  wife  and  daughters,  who  had  been  brides- 
maids, having  preceded  them. 

At  the  end  of  a fortnight  Raoul  Raillard  and  his  wife  came 
back  to  spend  with  us  the  rest  of  the  vacation.  The  day  they 
went  away  the  diary  said,  “We  bore  the  separation  pretty 


512 


MEMOIR. 


well.”  Yes,  we  bore  it  pretty  well  this  time,  because  it  was 
not  to  be  very  long.  It  had  been  decided  that  as  soon  as 
the  young  couple  were  settled  in  their  apartments,  we  should 
become  their  guests,  — my  husband  hoping,  in  this  way,  to  see 
the  great  Exhibition  at  leisure  and  without  fatigue. 

We  arrived  at  M.  Raillard’s  on  October  13,  and  the  very 
next  day  saw  us  in' the  English  Eine  Arts  department  of  the 
Exhibition.  Our  daughter  lived  in  the  Rue  de  la  Tour,  at 
Passy,  an  easy  walking  distance  to  the  Champ  de  Mars,  and 
her  father  made  it  a rule  to  go  there  on  foot  with  me  every 
morning  between  the  first  breakfast  and  dejeuner  a la  four - 
chette.  The  plan  answered  very  well.  We  were  almost 
alone  in  the  rooms,  and  could  see  the  pictures  at  our  leisure. 
My  husband  took  his  notes  with  ease  and  comfort,  without 
nervousness.  After  a two  hours’  study,  we  went  back  to  the 
family  lunch,  and  such  was  Gilbert’s  improvement  in  health 
that  he  often  took  us  again  to  the  Exhibition  in  the  afternoon 
merely  for  pleasure. 

He  enjoyed  the  works  of  art  immensely,  and  said  that  he 
felt  like  a ravenous  man  to  whom  a splendid  banquet  was 
offered. 

Being  also  greatly  interested  in  the  progress  of  the  various 
sciences,  he  liked  to  become  acquainted  with  all  new  inven- 
tions, and  often  resorted  to  the  Galerie  des  Machines. 

Mr.  Seeley  had  been  told  of  our  intended  visit  to  England, 
in  case  my  husband  did  not  feel  any  bad  effects  from  the  stay 
in  Paris,  and  he  wrote:  “ It  is  fortunate  that  you  are  coming 
just  now,  when  we  want  to  start  the  ‘Portfolio’  on  a new 
career;  it  will  be  delightful  to  consult  over  it  with  you.  Do 
not  exhaust  your  energy  in  Paris,  and  find  you  have  none  left 
to  bring  you  over  to  England.” 

Although  he  worked  unremittingly,  he  felt  no  fatigue;  his 
nervous  system  was  quiet  and  allowed  him  to  seek  diligently 
for  promises  of  new  talent  among  the  mass  of  painters  and 
engravers,  and  to  feast  his  artistic  sense  in  the  Exposition  du 
Centenaire.  He  also  gave  more  than  his  usual  attention  to 
sculpture,  and  was  of  opinion  that  France  remained  unrivalled 
in  that  branch  of  art. 


MEMOIR. 


513 


On  our  way  to  England  we  stopped  at  Chantilly,  and  slept 
at  Calais  in  the  Hotel  Maritime,  on  the  new  pier.  I almost 
believe  that  we  happened  to  be  the  first  travellers  asking  for 
a bedroom,  for  the  waiters  offered  excuses  for  the  still  incom- 
plete furnishing,  and  for  the  service  not  being  yet  properly 
organized.  After  a good  night’s  rest,  we  visited  Calais  Mari- 
time and  the  important  engineering  works  there,  for  which 
my  husband  expressed  great  admiration.  On  arriving  in 
London  we  went  straight  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Seeley’s,  who  had 
kindly  invited  us  to  stay  with  them  till  we  found  comfortable 
lodgings. 

It  was  not  Gilbert’s  intention  to  stay  long  in  England  this 
time;  he  had  come  mainly  to  discuss  with  Mr.  Seeley  the 
improvements  they  both  desired  to  introduce  in  the  “ Port- 
folio,” and  to  choose  the  illustrations  for  “Man  in  Art.”  In 
order  not  to  lose  time,  he  decided  to  take  lodgings  in  a cen- 
tral part,  as  near  to  the  National  Gallery  as  possible;  but  he 
wished  the  street  not  to  be  noisy.  He  found  what  he  wanted 
in  Craven  Street. 

This  time  he  had  to  pay  calls  alone,  and  to  beg  our  friends 
to  excuse  me,  for  I had  not  yet  been  able  to  master  my  sorrow 
sufficiently  to  allow  of  my  resuming  social  intercourse  with- 
out fear  of  breaking  down.  With  her  tender  sympathy,  Mrs. 
Seeley  bore  with  me,  and  strove  to  console  me  when  my 
resignation  failed;  but  I could  but  feel  that  I was  a saddening 
guest. 

While  we  were  still  at  Nutfield,  Mr.  A.  H.  Palmer,  the 
son  of  Samuel  Palmer,  who  had  a warm  admiration  for  Mr. 
Hamerton,  had  been  invited  to  meet  him,  and  he  brought  his 
camera  with  him,  proposing  to  take  our  photographs.  The 
portraits  of  the  ladies  were  failures;  Mr.  Seeley’s  was  fairly 
successful;  but  my  husband’s  was  the  best  portrait  we  had 
ever  seen  of  him,  very  fine  and  characteristic. 

We  had  intended  to  spend  only  two  or  three  days  with 
M.  and  Madame  Raillard  on  our  return,  but  our  son-in-law 
being  obliged  to  leave  suddenly  on  account  of  his  grand- 
mother’s illness,  and  unwilling  to  expose  his  wife  to  conta- 
gion, we  offered  to  remain  with  her  till  he  should  come  back. 

33 


514 


MEMOIR. 


We  soon  received  the  sad  news  of  the  deaths,  at  an  interval 
of  two  days  only,  of  the  grandmother  and  an  aunt;  also  of  the 
dangerous  illness  of  Madame  Raillard  senior,  which  happily 
did  not  prove  fatal,  the  disease  having  apparently  spent  its 
virulence  on  the  two  first  victims. 

During  our  enforced  stay  in  Paris  Gilbert  wrote  an  article 
for  the  “ Photographic  Quarterly  ” on  Photogravure  and  Helio- 
gravure, and  for  the  “ Portfolio  ” a review  of  Mr.  Pennell’s 
book  on  Pen-and-ink  Drawing.  We  went  by  boat  to  Suresnes, 
to  see  the  banks  of  the  Seine,  for  Mary  was  trying  to  draw 
us  to  live  nearer  to  her.  With  her  husband  she  had  already 
visited  several  pretty  places  in  the  neighborhood  of  Paris,  and 
had  given  us  some  very  tempting  descriptions.  As  for  me, 
I should  have  desired  nothing  better  than  to  live  near  to  my 
daughter,  but  I never  expected  my  husband  to  reconcile  him- 
self to  town  life. 

There  was  a marked  and  decided  improvement  in  his  ability 
to  travel,  for  he  did  not  suffer  at  all  on  the  way  home;  it  is  true 
that  we  strictly  adhered  to  the  rule  of  slow  and  night  trains. 

The  pleasant  exercise  of  riding  had  to  be  reluctantly  given 
up  because  Cadette,  who  had  betrayed  from  the  beginning  a 
slight  weakness  in  the  knees,  now  stumbled  often  and  badly, 
especially  out  of  harness.  The  veterinary  surgeon  who  had 
examined  her  before  we  bought  her,  had  said  that  it  was  of 
no  consequence,  only  the  result  of  poor  feeding,  and  would 
disappear  after  a course  of  prolonged  river-baths.  Instead  of 
disappearing,  the  tendency  had  so  much  increased  that  it  was 
deemed  safer  not  to  trust  Cadette  even  in  the  two-wheeled 
carriage,  at  least  for  a while.  This  mishap  was  the  begin- 
ning of  my  husband’s  real  appreciation  of  velocipedes.  He 
had  liked  them  well  enough  from  the  first,  and  used  to  hire 
one  now  and  then,  but  it  was  only  after  he  had  become  pos- 
sessed of  a good  tricycle  that  the  taste  for  the  kind  of  exercise 
it  affords  developed  itself  apace.  M.  Raillard  had  made  him 
a present  of  one  for  which  he  had  little  use  in  Paris,  and 
this  present  having  been  made  just  after  Mary’s  betrothal, 
her  father  playfully  said  that  “he  had  sold  his  daughter  for 
a velocipede.” 


MEMOIR. 


515 


As  soon  as  he  had  adopted  the  machine  as  his  ordinary- 
steed,  he  began  to  consider  how  to  make  it  carry  his  sketch- 
ing apparatus.  He  invented  various  straps,  boxes,  holders, 
rings,  etc.,  fitting  in  different  places  according  to  the  bulk 
and  nature  of  the  things  he  wished  to  have  with  him:  a 
sketching  umbrella,  a stool,  and  all  that  was  needful  for 
water-color,  etching,  or  oil-painting.  He  also  devised  a 
zinc  box,  easily  adapted  to  the  tricycle,  to  take  his  letters, 
manuscripts,  and  parcels  to  the  post,  and  found  it  very 
convenient. 

At  the  end  of  January  he  was  seized  with  an  attack  of  gout 
which  lasted  a week,  and  took  him  quite  by  surprise,  for  he 
had  not  neglected  physical  exercise;  the  doctor,  however,  said 
that  an  attack  of  gout  might  be  brought  on  by  a mere  change 
of  locality  — and  we  had  just  returned  from  Paris. 

He  strove  to  do  some  work  in  spite  of  pain  and  bad  nights, 
and  succeeded  now  and  then,  and  as  soon  as  he  could  man- 
age — with  help  — to  get  into  the  carriage,  he  drove  out  for 
change  of  air. 

In  March  he  received  from  Mr.  Watts  the  permission  he 
had  asked,  to  have  his  portrait  of  Lord  Lawrence  engraved. 

I transcribe  Mr.  Watts’s  letters,  with  two  others  which  had 
preceded  it,  to  show  in  what  esteem  he  held  his  correspond- 
ent’s opinions. 

“Monkshatch,  Guildford,  Surrey.  November  23,  1889. 

“ My  dear  Sir,  — Our  short  talk  was  very  interesting  to  me,  and 
I should  like  to  have  an  opportunity  of  explaining  my  views  on 
art  and  the  practice  of  it,  which  opportunity  I hope  you  will  give 
me  at  some  future  time.  I have  asked  Mr.  F.  Hollyer  of  9 
Pembroke  Square,  Kensington,  to  let  you  have  prints  of  Lord 
Lawrence  and  Mr.  Peabody.  On  the  other  side  of  the  sheet  I 
send  the  permission  you  require.” 

“ Monkshatch,  Guildford,  Surrey.  December  4,  1889. 

“ My  dear  Sir,  — I have  just  seen  the  December  number  of  the 
‘ Magazine  of  Art,’  in  which  I find  an  engraving  of  my  portrait  of 
Peabody.  I did  not  know  that  it  would  be  there,  but  I have  given 
Mr.  Spielman  a sort  of  general  permission  to  use  certain  of  the 
photographs.  I do  not  know  whether  the  appearance  of  the  head 


516 


MEMOIR. 


will  vitiate  the  interest  of  your  proposed  publication,  but  I hope 
not,  as  the  use  of  it  will  be  of  a very  different  nature. 

“ I am  much  gratified  by  what  you  said  of  my  works  in  your 
letter  to  me.  However  limited  may  be  the  result  of  my  efforts,  I 
have  worked  from  the  very  beginning  with  sincerity  of  aim,  cer- 
tainly never  regarding  the  profession  as  a trade ; and  for  some  years 
not  considering  my  avocation  as  a profession,  declining  to  paint 
portraits  professionally  or  to  take  commissions. 

“ Such  wares  as  I may  have  of  an  unimportant  aim  and  char- 
acter, I am  not  unwilling  to  sell,  as  Lord  Derby  is  not  unwilling 
to  sell  his  coals ; for  I am  not  wealthy,  and  find  many  good  ways 
of  using  money,  but  I do  not  regard  my  art  as  a source  of  income 
any  longer.  I hope  some  day  to  have  the  pleasure  of  discussing 
certain  artistic  questions  with  you.” 

“ Monkshatch,  Guildford,  Surrey.  March  14,  1890. 

“ My  dear  Sir,  — The  picture  of  Lord  Lawrence  is  in  my  pos- 
session, and  the  engraver  may  have  it  for  two  weeks  in  May  or 
June.  Of  course  he  is  trustworthy ! The  picture  being  one  of 
those  I have  made  over  to  the  nation,  I lend  it  with  a certain  hesi- 
tation, as  I do  not  consider  it  belongs  to  me.  I am  flattered  by 
the  opinion  of  the  young  men,  especially  as  I think  I may  hope  it 
becomes  more  favorable  with  time. 

“ The  portrait  of  Tennyson  is  at  South  Kensington,  and  no 
doubt  I can  easily  manage  that  Mr.  Frank  Short  should  have  ac- 
cess to  it. 

“ I do  not  expect  to  be  in  town  for  good  before  the  end  of  April, 
but  here  I am  within  an  hour  and  a half  of  London.” 

Although  a great  amount  of  labor  had  been  bestowed  upon 
“ Man  in  Art,”  the  author  thought  it  advanced  but  slowly, 
and  became  anxious  as  the  year  wore  on.  In  July  he  wrote 
a long  explanatory  letter  to  Mr.  Craik,  and  received  this 
answer:  — 

“ I am  much  interested  in  your  report  of  what  has  been  done 
towards  the  new  book.  You  have  done  a good  bit  of  work,  and  I 
think  you  have  made  a thoroughly  interesting  selection  of  pictures. 
You  have  an  almost  endless  field  to  choose  from. 

“ It  is  quite  impossible  to  publish  this  year , but  you  ought  to  have 
plenty  of  time  to  prepare  for  next  autumn.  It  is  strange  how  long 


MEMOIR. 


517 


a book  with  illustrations  takes  to  get  ready ; but  the  disappoint- 
ment when  many  artists  are  at  work  is  proverbial. 

“I  look  forward  with  sanguine  interest  to  the  publication  next 
year.” 

Note  in  the  diary : * I feel  much  relieved  by  this  letter, 
altogether  a day  of  detente.” 

Although  he  had  taken  an  immense  quantity  of  notes  both 
in  London  and  Paris,  my  husband  was  sometimes  greatly 
perplexed  by  the  want  of  references,  and  said  almost  desper- 
ately : “No  one  has  any  idea  of  the  difficulty  of  doing  my 
work  in  my  situation,  — far  from  picture  galleries,  museums, 
and  libraries.  It  is  so  arduous  that,  at  times,  I feel  as  if 
I could  not  go  on.  It  is  too  much  for  the  brain  to  carry  so 
many  images,  to  remember  so  many  things,  without  the  possi- 
bility of  refreshing  my  memory,  of  settling  a doubt,  of  filling 
up  a gap.  ” He  was  not  the  only  one  to  wonder  at  the  extra- 
ordinary feats  of  literary  production  which  he  was  compelled 
to  accomplish  under  such  unfavorable  circumstances.  All 
those  who  knew  of  it  said  that  his  store  of  accumulated 
knowledge  must  be  marvellous  indeed.  And  yet,  the  only 
remedy  was  hardly  to  be  hinted  at;  I felt  so  certain  that  he 
would  be  miserable  in  a great  capital  that  I never  mentioned 
the  possibility  of  living  in  one  of  them;  he  was  sufficiently 
aware  of  its  desirability. 

Early  in  the  summer,  as  I had  suffered  much  from  rheuma- 
tism, our  doctor  insisted  upon  my  being  sent  to  Bourbon- 
Lancy  for  a course  of  baths.  I was  most  unwilling  to  leave 
my  husband  now  that  Mary  was  married  and  away,  but  he  said 
the  hope  that  the  treatment  would  do  me  good  was  enough  to 
make  him  bear  his  temporary  loneliness  cheerfully,  and  then 
my  mother  would  come  to  stay  with  him.  As  I was  very 
down-hearted  myself,  he  promised  to  make  a break  in  our 
separation  by  coming  to  see  me. 

When  the  first  half  of  my  season  at  the  baths  was  over,  I 
saw  him  arrive  in  the  little  gig  with  M.  Bulliot,  who  had 
come  on  an  antiquarian  quest.  They  went  together,  to  see 
the  curious,  simple  church  of  St.  Nazaire  (eleventh  century), 
of  which  my  husband  made  a drawing.  He  also  sketched  a 


518 


MEMOIR. 


view  of  the  Loire,  which  may  be  seen  from  the  height  above 
Bourbon-Lancy,  for  a great  length  of  its  sleepy  course. 

In  the  course  of  the  vacation,  my  husband  listened  pretty 
regularly  to  M.  Raiilard’s  English  readings  out  of  Emerson 
or  Tennyson,  while  he  occasionally  read  a little  German  with 
his  son-in-law.  He  was  very  desirous  of  resuming  the  study 
of  that  language,  which,  he  said,  would  be  of  great  service  in 
his  studies,  but  he  was  not  able  to  find  the  time  — Italian 
absorbing  all  he  could  spare.  Two  masters  — or  rather  a 
master  and  a mistress  — had  been  recommended  to  him,  and 
when  he  could  manage  it,  he  wrote  to  them  alternately  long 
letters  in  Italian,  which  they  returned  corrected. 

Mr.  Bodley,  an  English  gentleman  who  was  studying 
French  institutions  and  politics  most  seriously,  and  who  was 
acquainted  with  Mr.  Hamerton’s  works,  came  in  August  to 
see  him.  This  visit  was  the  beginning  of  a lasting  acquaint- 
ance, which  was  appreciated  and  valued  by  both  parties. 
When  we  settled  in  the  Parc  des  Princes,  and  when,  after 
his  marriage,  Mr.  Bodley  resided  in  Paris,  they  met  with  new 
pleasure  and  fresh  interest  whenever  an  opportunity  offered 
itself. 

Mr.  Bodley  was  commencing  his  studies  on  France  for  the 
work  he  had  just  undertaken  for  Messrs.  Macmillan,  which 
should  essay  to  do  for  France  what  Mr.  Bryce  had  done  for 
the  United  States  in  his  “ American  Commonwealth.”  Recog- 
nizing Mr.  Hamerton  as  the  chief  English  authority  on  all 
French  questions,  he  had,  soon  after  his  first  arrival  in  Paris, 
been  put  into  communication  with  him  by  the  good  offices  of 
a common  friend  in  the  diplomatic  service.  A correspond- 
ence ensued,  in  the  first  letter  of  which  my  husband  gave 
Mr.  Bodley  some  advice  on  an  article  the  latter  had  been 
requested  to  write  for  the  “Quarterly  Review,”  on  “Provin- 
cial France,”  before  he  had  had  any  opportunity  of  studying 
the  French  provinces.  Here  is  part  of  the  letter : — 

“Autun,  Saone-et-Loire.  June  11,  1890. 

“ My  dear  Sir,  — It  is  a laudable,  though  an  extraordinary  de- 
sire on  your  part  to  know  something  about  the  subject  you  have  to 


MEMOIR. 


519 


treat.  I have  never  heard  of  such  a case  before.  I have  known 
France  for  thirty-five  years,  and  find  generally  that  English  critics, 
who  know  nothing  two  miles  from  the  British  Embassy,  are  ready 
enough  to  set  me  down  and  teach  me  my  proper  place.  I send  by 
this  post  a colis  postal,  containing — 

“ 1.  ‘ Round  my  House,’  by  P.  G.  H. 

“ 2.  ‘ La  France  Provincial, ’ par  Ren4  Millet. 

“ 3.  ‘ French  and  English,’  by  P.  G.  H. 

“ I have  not  a copy  of  the  English  edition  of  ‘ French  and  English,’ 
but  the  Tauchnitz  is  better,  as  it  had  the  benefit  of  correction. 

“ You  ought  to  notice,  with  reference  to  provincial  France,  the 
exteme  difficulty  of  making  any  general  statements  that  are  true. 
For  example,  it  is  believed  in  England  that  all  French  land  is 
cut  up  into  small  bits.  A traveller  who  writes  in  the  ‘ Temps  ’ news- 
paper said  lately,  that  although  the  greater  number  of  proprietors 
in  the  Forest  Lands  of  the  Nifevre  were  small  owners,  the  greater 
part  of  the  land  was  in  the  possession  of  large  owners ; and  he 
mentioned  one  who,  he  said,  owned  12,000  hectares  (more  than 
24,000  acres)  of  excellent  forest.  He  did  not  give  the  name. 
There  are  several  large  landowners  in  this  neighborhood.  One 
had  an  income  of  £24,000  a year,  but  it  was  divided  amongst  his 
children. 

“ France  is  a very  various  country,  and  therefore  difficult  to 

know.  If  you  have  Mr.  II ’s  book  amongst  those  you  notice, 

you  should  bear  in  mind  that  it  is  a strictly  partisan  publication, 
hostile  to  all  republicans,  against  whom  the  author  seems  to  have 
taken  a brief,”  etc.,  etc. 

Then  followed  some  other  letters,  from  which  I give  a few 
paragraphs : — 


“Autun.  July  15,  1890. 

“You  have  done  an  imprudent  thing  in  not  publishing  your 
* Quarterly  ’ article  at  once.  There  are  two  times  for  writing  — first 
when  you  know  nothing,  secondly  when  you  know  a great  deal ; the 
intermediate  time,  that  of  acquisition,  is  not  favorable  to  writing, 
because  it  destroys  the  author’s  confidence  in  himself.  He  pos- 
sesses that  confidence  before  learning,  and  renews  it  when  he  has 
learned.  In  the  interval  he  suffers  from  diffidence. 

“I  am  glad  to  hear  that  M.  Jusserand  likes  my  books ; he  is 
just  the  kind  of  Frenchman  whose  opinion  one  really  values. 

“ I shall  be  very  glad  if  you  can  come.  I shall  be  away  part  of 


520 


MEMOIR. 


September.  All  August  I shall  be  at  home,  but  if  you  could  have 
come  about  now,  it  would  have  been  better  still.” 


“July,  28,  1890. 

“ The  shortest  rout  from  Paris  to  Autun,  as  to  mere  distance,  is 
by  Laroche,  Cravant,  Avallon,  etc.  In  the  present  case  I strongly 
recommend  the  shorter  and  more  rural  route,  as  being  by  far  the 
prettier  and  less  fatiguing,  and  also  because  it  enables  you  to  see 
one  of  the  most  picturesque  small  towns  in  France  — Avallon. 
You  have  five  hours  to  see  Avallon,  and  the  picturesque  valley  that 
it  overlooks.  . . . The  next  morning  you  will  of  course  be  occupied 
in  seeing  Autun,  but  if  you  will  make  your  way  to  the  railway 
station,  so  as  to  be  there  at  11.15,  you  will  see  a vehicle  with 
yellow  wheels  and  a chestnut  mare,  with  a white  mark  on  her 
face.  The  said  vehicle  will  bring  you  to  Pre-Charmoy  (if  you 
will  kindly  allow  it  to  do  so),  in  time  for  dejeuner.  Please  let 
me  know  the  day.  It  would  be  better  not  to  make  any  hard-and- 
fast  arrangement  about  your  departure,  as  I may  be  able  to  per- 
suade you  to  take  some  drives  with  me  to  see  something  in  this 
neighborhood.” 


“Autun.  November  2,  1890. 

“ I received  the  ‘ Quarterly  * this  morning,  and  read  your  article. 
Towards  the  close,  you  say  every  Frenchman  in  the  provinces 
works.  That,  I am  sorry  to  say,  is  a mistake.  Unfortunately  there 
is  still  a strong  survival  of  the  old  caste  prejudice  against  work,  as 
being  beneath  a gentleman.  All  the  young  men  I know  whose 
parents  are  very  well  off  are  as  idle  as  they  can  be , unless  they  go  into 
the  army  or  the  Church , and  now  they  hardly  ever  go  into  the  Church, 
or  when  they  do  it  is  in  some  order  (Jesuits,  Marists,  etc.).  I was 
talking  about  this  with  a rich  old  French  gentleman  about  ten 
days  ago,  and  he  deeply  deplored  it ; he  said  he  felt  more  respect  for 
common  workmen  than  for  the  idle  young  men  in  his  own  class. 

“ You  appear  to  think  that  the  Morvan  language  is  a Celtic 1 
tongue.  No;  it  is  only  a French  patois,  very  interesting  and  pe- 
culiar in  its  grammatical  forms.  I understand  it  partly  when 
spoken,  and  can  read  it  with  some  little  difficulty.  My  daughter 
understands  it  very  well.  Our  servants  speak  it  among  them- 
selves. Their  French  is  very  pure,  though  somewhat  limited  in 
its  vocabulary. 

“ It  seems  to  me  that  you  are  happily  endowed  and  situated  for 
undertaking  a work  of  the  kind  you  intend  to  write.  You  have 


MEMOIR. 


521 


seen  a great  deal  of  the  world,  you  have  no  prejudices,  you  desire 
nothing  but  to  be  just,  and  especially  you  have  that  very  rare  qual- 
ity — a right  curiosity.  I was  pleased,  and  a little  amused  by  the 
contrast,  when  I compared  you  with  the  strangely  uninterested 
English  whom  I have  seen  in  and  out  of  France.  I recollect  stay- 
ing with  a friend  in  England,  a few  years  ago,  and  I noticed  that 
he  did  not  ask  me  one  single  question  about  France.  He  simply 
talked  of  his  own  locality,  and  did  not  appear  to  take  the  slightest 
interest  in  the  continent  of  Europe. 

“ You  made  me  pass  a very  pleasant  day,  which  encourages  the 
hope  that  you  will  come  again  to  this  neighborhood.  There  is  a 
great  deal  to  be  seen  within  a driving  radius,  especially  if  you  con- 
sent to  sleep  one  night  away  from  home. 

“ My  wife  and  I are  going  to  Paris  in  December,  when  I mean 
to  look  you  up.” 

To  another  visitor  whose  name  I am  not  at  liberty  to 
mention,  my  husband  had  written  the  following  interesting 
letter : — 

“ Whilst  driving  home  in  the  dark,  after  saying  good-bye  to  you, 
I thought  over  your  remarks  about  the  great  revolution  in  habits 
of  thought  which  must  take  place  in  consequence  of  the  influence 
of  scientific  methods.  The  difficulty  I foresee  is  this.  Religions 
supply  a want  that  science  does  not  and  cannot  supply;  they 
answer  to  the  need  of  certain  emotions — trust,  hope,  joy,  ‘peace 
in  believing,’  the  happiness  of  thinking  that  we  are  each  of  us  in- 
dividually cared  for  by  a supremely  good  and  all-powerful  Father. 
Women  especially  seem  to  need  these  emotions  to  make  life  happy 
for  them,  and  when  they  cease  to  believe,  as  many  now  do,  they 
feel  a sense  of  desolation.  The  most  successful  religion  (the 
Roman)  has  succeeded  by  supplying  most  abundantly  that  care 
and  those  consolations  which  women  expect  a religion  to  give,  and 
which  science  does  not  in  the  least  degree  supply;  in  fact,  women 
usually  dislike  science.  Now,  as  the  churches  maintain  themselves 
chiefly  by  the  influence  and  support  of  women,  may  they  not  con- 
tinue to  maintain  themselves  indefinitely  in  this  way  ? Is  it  not 
possible,  to  mention  a special  case,  that  the  Roman  Catholic  Church 
may  exist  for  an  indefinite  length  of  time  simply  as  a provider  of 
the  kind  of  authority  and  the  kind  of  emotion  that  women  desire, 

and  that  they  cannot  obtain  from  science  ? Mr. , a friend  of 

mine,  considers  religion  absolutely  necessary  to  women,  and  to 


522 


MEMOIR. 


many  men^  not  that  he  at  all  considers  religion  to  be  true  in  the 
matter-of-fact  sense,  but  the  scientific  truth  of  a doctrine  is  quite 
distinct  from  its  beneficial  effect  upon  the  mind. 

“ For  my  part,  Vdon’t  know  what  to  think  about  the  future. 
Long  ago  I used  to  hope  for  a true  religion,  but  now  I see  that  if 
it  is  to  be  free  from  mythology,  it  ceases  to  be  a religion  altogether, 
and  becomes  only  science,  which  has  none  of  the  heating  and  ener- 
gizing force  that  a real  religion  certainly  possesses.  Neither  has 
science  its  power  of  uniting  men  in  bonds  of  brotherhood,  and  in 
giving  them  an  effective  hostile  action  against  others  as  religious 
intolerance  does.”  ✓ 

% 

On  the  subject  of  religious  belief,  my  husband  had  written 
previously  to  Mr.  Seeley : — 

“ I have  been  corresponding  with  a friend  [the  same  Mr. 

mentioned  in  the  letter  to  another  visitor]  about  the  religious 
views  of  Mark  Pattison  and  Dean  Stanley.  He  knew  both  of  them, 
and  quite  confirms  what  I had  heard  before,  that  they  were  no 
more  believers  than  Renan.  Pattison  he  describes  as  a conserva- 
tive agnostic  or  pantheist,  meaning  by  ‘ conservative  ’ a man  who 
thought  it  better  to  preserve  old  forms.  I recollect  that  Appleton 
told  me  when  he  was  here  that  there  was  not  the  slightest  obliga- 
tion on  a clergyman  of  the  Church  of  England  to  believe  in  the 
divinity  of  Christ,  and  that  many  clergymen  in  the  present  day, 
including  Pattison,  had  no  such  belief.  My  friend  himself  seems 
to  be  an  agnostic,  and  a strong  supporter  of  the  Church  of  England 
at  the  same  time,  and  quite  lately  he  earnestly  counselled  some 
young  English  ladies  (who  were  Unitarians,  but  obliged  to  live 
abroad)  to  join  the  Church  of  England  for  the  sake  of  ‘ religious 
fellowship.’  He  tells  me  that  there  is  in  Dean  Stanley’s  ‘ Christian 
Institutions’  an  exposition  of  the  Apostles’  Creed,  containing 
hardly  a syllable  to  which  Renan  could  not  subscribe. 

“ From  all  this  it  would  appear  that  some,  at  least,  of  the  English 
clergy  have  adopted  the  Jesuit  principle,  practically  so  convenient, 
by  which  any  one  may  have  an  esoteric  religion  for  himself  as  the 
comfortable  lining  of  the  cloak,  and  an  esoteric  religion  for  other 
people  as  the  outside  of  the  cloak.  Meanwhile  these  clergymen  are 
deeply  respected,  whilst  honest  men  whose  opinions  are  not  one 
whit  more  heretical  are  stigmatized  as  ‘ infidels,’  and  excluded  from 
‘ good  society.’  You  seem  to  have  got  into  a curious  condition  in 
England.  Surely  many  laymen  are  right  in  distrusting  parsons.” 


MEMOIR. 


523 


As  editor  of  the  “ Portfolio,”  he  had  been  contributing 
articles  from  time  to  time,  but  Mr.  Seeley  was  anxious  to 
see  him  undertake  an  important  series  for  the  following  year. 
He  proposed  different  subjects  likely  to  tempt  the  author’s 
fancy,  and  suggested  “ Turner  in  Switzerland;  ” but  one  of  the 
difficulties  was  the  quantity  of  work  done  by  Turner  in 
Switzerland,  and  the  time  that  would  he  required  to  follow  in 
his  steps.  Another  suggestion  of  Mr.  Seeley’s  was  to  write 
about  a group  of  French  living  artists  who  would  be  good 
representatives  of  the  modern  school,  and  whose  works  would 
furnish  striking  illustrations.  He  said  with  his  usual  kind 
thoughtfulness : “ I must  confess  that  my  suggestion  of  a 
French  subject  arose  partly  from  the  pleasure  you  would  find 
in  paying  a visit  to  your  daughter  at  Paris ; and  partty  also 
from  the  reflection  that  Paris  is  not  far  from  London.” 

Mr.  Hamerton  had  proposed  “The  Louvre,”  but  it  was 
feared  that  the  subject  would  not  be  a popular  one ; and  after 
mature  consideration,  the  idea  of  a connected  series  of  articles 
on  modern  French  painters  was  entertained  by  both  publisher 
and  editor.  Mr.  Seeley  wrote : “ I was  rather  in  hopes  that 
my  vague  suggestion  of  a subject  might  take  root  in  your 
mind  and  develop  into  something  definite;  or,  to  change  the 
metaphor,  that  it  might  be  a spark  to  kindle  your  invention. 
I think  such  a series  would  be  interesting  here,  and  would 
furnish  admirable  subjects  for  twelve  etchings.” 

A journey  to  Paris  was  then  decided  upon  for  the  winter. 
The  Saone  cruise  proved  particularly  pleasant  this  time,  on 
account  of  the  welcome  offered  to  the  passengers  of  “ L’Arar  ” 
by  several  friends  at  Neuville,  who  most  hospitably  enter- 
tained them  on  land  and  water.  They  were  invited  on  board 
“ L’Hirondelle  ” and  “Petite  Amie,”  and  raced  “L’Arar” 
against  them.  It  was  a comfort  to  my  husband  to  feel  him- 
self among  friends,  for  he  suddenly  suffered  from  an  irregular 
action  of  the  heart  which  lasted  for  thirty-six  hours,  but 
ceased  as  suddenly  as  it  came.  He  had  had  another  distress 
of  the  same  kind  in  the  summer,  but  only  of  a couple  of 
hours’  duration.  I had  entreated  him  to  see  a doctor  at  the 
time;  but  he  said  it  was  only  nervousness.  At  Neuville  like- 


524 


MEMOIR. 


wise  he  refused  to  seek  advice,  feeling  sure  it  would  cease 
of  itself;  and  now  I have  the  painful  certainty  that  he  was 
already  laboring ^nder  the  symptoms  of  heart  disease.  Still, 
he  speedily  recovered,  and  resumed  his  studies  in  water-colors 
and  in  pen-and-ink  the  day  after. 

I see  by  this  note  in  the  diary  that  he  was  well  satisfied 
with  his  boat : “ Sept.  15.  My  studies  occupied  me  till 
lunch-time,  and  then,  after  dejeuner , we  started  in  ‘ L’Arar  ’ 
to  try  an  experiment  in  sailing  with  a breeze  so  light  as  to  be 
imperceptible,  sheets  not  even  stretched,  yet  we  went  up  as 
far  as  Pont  Vert  and  beyond.  We  might  have  gone  further, 
but  came  back  to  call  upon  Madame  Vibert.” 

In  October,  Mr.  Hamerton  wrote  an  article  for  “ Chambers’ 
Encyclopaedia  ” on  the  “ History  of  Art,”  and  another  for  the 
“Portfolio”  on  “National  Supremacy  in  Painting.”  Hav- 
ing been  asked  to  contribute  to  the  “Forum,”  he  began  in 
November  an  article  on  “ Home  Life  in  France.” 

He  was  always  anxious  to  clear  up  any  international  mis- 
understanding between  France  and  England,  and  had  written 
in  May  to  the  “ Pall  Mall  Gazette  ” an  explanatory  letter  on 
the  so-called  persecution  of  the  Church  by  the  Republic,  as 
regarded  the  execution  of  the  decrees  concerning  religious 
orders. 

He  had  also  sent  a letter  to  the  “ Academy  ” on  “ France 
and  the  Republic.” 

Although  very  tolerant  himself  in  matters  of  religion,  it 
was  his  opinion  that  the  State,  whether  under  a Republic  or 
a Monarchy,  had  a right  to  exact  obedience  to  its  laws  as 
well  from  religious  bodies  as  from  private  persons ; and  that 
a Republican  government  ought  not  to  be  accused  of  tyranny 
because  it  enforced  the  execution  of  these  general  laws.  But 
people  are  very  apt  to  take  the  view  which  M.  de  Cassagnac 
so  frankly  avowed  when  addressing  the  Republican  party  in 
the  Chamber:  “ We  claim  unbounded  liberty  for  ourselves  — 
because  you  promise  it  in  your  programme;  but  we  refuse  it 
to  you  — because  it  is  contrary  to  our  principles.” 

About  the  middle  of  November  there  was  copied  into 
the  “ Temps  ” an  anonymous  letter  which  had  appeared  in 


MEMOIR. 


525 


<f  Truth,”  professing  to  express  the  hostile  feelings  enter- 
tained by  English  naval  officers  against  the  officers  of  the 
French  fleet,  which  had  recently  visited  Malta.  This  roused 
Mr.  Hamerton’s  indignation;  the  more  so  as  he  never  for 
one  moment  believed  the  discourteous  and  outrageous  letter  to 
he  genuine.  I transcribe  his  explanation  of  the  incident  as 
given  by  himself  to  his  son-in-law : — 


“ Novembre  17,  1890. 

“Mon  cher  Fils,  — II  m’est  arrive  de  pouvoir,  je  crois,  etre 
utile  au  maintien  des  bonnes  relations  entre  les  marines  anglaises 
et  franjjaises.  Un  journal  anglais,  ‘ Truth,’  a public  il  y a quinze 
jours  une  lettre  sans  signature,  mais  pr^sentde  comme  la  commu- 
nication authentique  d’un  officier  de  notre  flotte  de  la  Mdditer- 
ranee.  Dans  cette  lettre  l’ecrivain  reprdsentait  les  officiers  comme 
trfes  m^contents  d’etre  obliges  de  donner  l’hospitalit^  a ceux  de 
l’escadre  fra^aise  qui  est  venue  k Malte ; disant  que  c’^tait  leur 
metier  de  recevoir  les  Fran^ais  k coups  de  fusil  et  qu’ils  ne  d£- 
siraient  pas  les  voir  autrement. 

“Jeconnais  assez  les  sentiments  d’un  ‘English  gentleman,’  (et 
nos  officiers  de  marine  se  piquent  de  soutenir  ce  caractfcre)  pour 
savoir  qu’ils  comprendraient  l’hospitalit^  mieux  que  cela,  et  j’ai 
envoy e le  paragraphe  en  question  k l’Amiral  commandant  la 
flotte  Anglaise  de  la  Mediterran^e,  en  lui  sugg^rant  l’kffie  d’une 
protestation.  II  m’a  r^pondu  par  telegramme  qu’au  re$u  de 
ma  lettre  l’indignation  avait  £t£  generate  parmi  les  officiers  et 
qu’ils  prdparent  une  protestation  qu’ils  m’enverront  pour  que  je 
la  fasse  circuler  autant  que  possible  dans  la  presse  fran^aise.  Le 
retard  a 6t6  probablement  occasionne  par  les  mouvements  de  la 
flotte.” 

A few  days  later  the  following  letter  was  received  by  Mr. 
Hamerton : — 


“ H.  M.  S.  Benbow.  November  17,  1890. 

“ Dear  Sir,  — I hope  you  will  kindly  assist  us  in  getting  the 
gross  misstatements  copied  from  ‘Truth’  as  to  our  feelings 
towards  the  French  Navy  contradicted. 

“You  will  perceive  that  the  paper  I enclose  is  signed  by  an 
officer  representing  each  ship,  and  that  most  ranks  in  the  service 
are  also  represented  thereon. 


526 


MEMOIR . 


“ Any  expense  that  may  be  incurred  would  you  kindly  let  me 
know? 

“ Yours  faithfully, 

“H.  Rawson, 

“ Capt.  R.  N.” 

The  protestation  which  accompanied  the  letter  ran  thus : — 

“H.  M.  S.  Benbow,  at  Malta.  November  15,  1890. 

“ Dear  Sir,  — Your  letter  of  the  1st  of  November,  sent  to  the 
Commander-in-Chief  of  the  British  fleet  in  the  Mediterranean,  has 
been  forwarded  to  us,  and  we  have  to  thank  you  for  having  called 
our  attention  to  the  paragraph  in  the  ‘ Temps,’  copied  from  ‘ Truth’ 
of  the  31st  of  October. 

“ Referring  to  the  language  in  ‘ Truth,’  the  editor  of  the  ‘ Temps  ’ 
says  that  he  hopes  it  will  be  protested  against  in  England.  The 
paragraph  had  been  seen  and  commented  on  by  our  officers ; but 
as  in  England  no  one  ever  takes  the  trouble  to  answer  or  contra- 
dict any  statement  made  in  that  paper  (‘  Truth  and  as  in  this 
case  its  object  was  so  palpably  political,  viz.  to  cause  the  present 
Government  trouble,  and  prevent  the  cordiality  and  friendship  that 
has  existed  so  long  between  the  two  nations,  no  notice  was  taken 
of  it ; but  when  a paper  of  such  importance  as  the  ‘ Temps  ’ copies 
the  paragraph,  and  it  is  thus  brought  before  the  French  nation,  it 
at  once  becomes  important  and  demands  a protest  and  a denial. 

“ As  you  have  already  taken  an  interest  in  the  matter,  we  are 
led  to  hope  that  you  will  assist  us  in  procuring  the  insertion  in 
any  French  papers  that  may  have  copied  this  paragraph,  most 
especially  the  ‘ Temps,’  the  naval  papers,  and  the  local  papers  at 
Toulon,  of  a protest  on  the  part  of  the  officers  of  the  English  fleet 
in  the  Mediterranean  against  the  language  of  the  article,  and  to 
deny,  on  our  part,  any  such  feelings  or  ideas  as  are  attributed  to 
us  in  it. 

“We  beg  to  assure  you  that  it  gave  us  real  and  unfeigned 
pleasure  to  see  the  French  fleet  in  our  midst  at  Malta,  and  that 
what  little  we  were  able  to  do  to  make  their  visit  agreeable  and 
pleasant  was  done  from  no  feeling  of  duty,  or  even  as  a mere 
return  for  the  kindly  reception  accorded  to  us  at  Toulon,  but 
from  a sincere  appreciation  of  the  high  qualities  of  French  naval 
officers,  and  a desire  to  cultivate  their  friendship. 

“We  have  the  honor  to  be, 

“ Sir 

“ Your  obedient  servants.” 


MEMOIR. 


527 


Three  weeks  later  came  a letter  of  thanks,  closing  the  inci- 
dent, which  had  caused  no  little  trouble  to  Mr.  Hamerton. 

“Malta.  December  12,1890. 

“ Dear  Mr.  Hamerton,  — Thank  you  very  much  in  the  name 
of  the  English  Navy  for  so  kindly  assisting  us  to  repel  the  gross 
insinuations  of  ‘ Truth,’  also  for  the  extracts,  and  the  trouble  you 
have  taken  for  us.  I only  regret  that  you  should  have  drawn 
1 Truth  ’ on  you. 

“I  have  shown  your  letter  to  the  Admiral  and  all  the  officers 
here,  who  are  much  pleased  with  all  that  has  been  done. 

“Again  thanking  you,  believe  me, 

“ Yours  truly, 

“ H.  Rawson.” 

Mr.  Hamerton  considered  himself  well  rewarded  for  his 
exertions  by  the  tokens  of  warm  approval  he  received  both 
from  England  and  from  France. 

“ French  and  English  ” did  not  meet  with  the  success  it 
deserved,  though  it  was  published  in  England,  America,  and 
France,  and  in  the  Tauchnitz  edition.  The  author  had  enter- 
tained few  illusions  about  the  fate  of  the  work,  for  some  rea- 
sons which  he  has  himself  explained  in  private  letters,  and 
in  his  prefaces  to  the  book.  He  once  wrote  in  answer  to  a 
letter  from  M.  Raillard : — 

“ Yous  lisez  mes  livres,  un  peu  sans  doute  pour  faire  plaisir  au 
vieux  Papa,  mais  je  crois  reellement  qu’ils  vous  seront  utiles  k 
cause  de  la  simplicity  du  style  et  de  la  clartd  que  j’ai  toujours 
cherchees.  Ces  qualites  m’ont  gagne  de  nombreux  lecteurs,  mais 
en  meme  temps  m’ont  privd  de  toute  reputation  de  profondeur. 
En  Angleterre  on  classe  tous  les  ecrivains  clairs,  comme  ycrivains 
superficiels.” 

But  he  said  in  the  preface  to  the  Tauchnitz  edition : — 

“ The  kind  of  success  most  gratifying  to  me  after  writing  a 
book  of  this  kind  would  be  to  convert  some  readers  to  my  own 
method,  or  rule,  in  the  formation  of  opinion,  whether  it  concerns 
one  side  or  the  other. 

“ My  method  is  a good  one,  but  not  so  good  for  eloquence  as  the 
hastier  methods  of  journalism.” 


528 


MEMOIR. 


And  in  the  preface  of  the  English  edition : — 

“I  should  like  to  write  with  complete  impartiality  if  it  were 
possible.  I have  at  least  written  with  the  most  sincere  desire  to 
be  impartial,  and  that  perhaps  at  the  cost  of  some  popularity  in 
England,  for  certain  English  critics  have  told  me  that  impartiality 
is  not  patriotic ; and  others  have  informed  me  of  what  I did  not 
know  before,  namely,  that  I prefer  the  French  to  my  own  country- 
men.” 

Though  “ French  and  English  ” never  became  what  may  be 
called  a popular  book,  it  nevertheless  attracted  a good  deal  of 
attention,  and  the  author  received  a great  number  of  letters 
expressive  of  admiration  and  gratitude  for  the  clear  discern- 
ment and  impartiality  with  which  the  differences  existing 
between  the  two  nations  had  been  studied  and  expounded. 

Here  is  a pretty  sample  from  a French  lady : — 

“ Monsieur,  — Je  viens  de  lire  avec  le  plus  grand  plaisir  votre 
livre  ‘ French  and  English.’  11  est  si  rare  qu’un  ecrivain  anglais 
ose  — ou  veuille,  aller  contre  les  pr^juges  de  ses  lecteurs  anglais, 
et  nous  fasse  justice,  que  j’en  ai  dprouve  un  vrai  sentiment  de 
reconnaissance.  Bien  des  jugements  port^s  sont  ceux  dont  j’ai 
l’habitude  de  gratifier  mes  amis,  et,  comme  il  y a toujours,  ‘a 
great  deal  of  human  nature  in  mankind ; ’ je  n’appr^cie  que 
mieux  votre  livre  k cause  de  cela.  A quelques  exceptions  prbs, 
par  exemple,  la  fin  du  chapitre  ‘ on  Truth,’  je  vois  les  choses 
comme  vous,  mais  certains  pr^jugds  sont  bien  inv^teres  dans 
l’esprit  de  vos  compatriotes. 

“ Lorsque  je  protestais  contre  les  iddes  fausses  qu’on  se  faisait 
de  nous,  on  m’a  dit  si  souvent : ‘ Oh ! mais,  vous  n’etes  pas  fran- 
9ais,  vous ! ’ Le  mot  est  bien  caracteristique.  Un  Fran^ais  qui 
ne  repond  pas  a l’idee  qu’on  se  fait  de  sa  nation,  c’est  une 
exception. 

“Je  ne  l’aurais  peut-etre  pris  que  comme  une  mani&re  de 
taquiner,  une  plaisanterie,  si  cela  ne  m’avait  dtd  r^p^t^  encore 
tout  derni&rement  par  un  homme  d’une  vraie  valeur  intellec- 
tuelle,  qui  a toute  une  th^orie  sur  les  races.  La  conclusion 
k d^duire  £tait : tout  ce  qui  pense  sdrieusement  ne  peut-etre 
fran9ais.  Qui  sait  si  votre  livre  ne  vous  a pas  fait  accuser  de 
vous  6tre  perverti  k notre  contact  puisque  vous  nous  etes  assez 
favorable ! 


MEMOIR. 


529 


“ Je  trotte  tous  ces  temps-ci  dans  la  neige,  avec  votre  livre  dans 
mon  manchon,  lisant  k chacun  de  mes  amis  le  morceau  qui  lui 
revient,  mais  je  voudrais  qu’ils  lisent  tout. 

“ Sans  me  donner  le  temps  de  trop  rdfldchir  j’ai  £crit  ma  lettre  ; 
apres  je  n’aurais  plus  os&  J’aurai  eu  ainsi  l’occasion  de  dire  a un 
homme  de  talent  qu’il  m’a  fait  gouter  un  vrai  plaisir  . . . peut- 
etre  est-ce  une  satisfaction  pour  un  auteur. 

“Veuillez  agreer,  Monsieur,  mes  compliments  bien  sinckres 
pour  votre  ‘fairness’  k notre  egard, 

“ Yours  truly.” 

I also  give  a passage  from  one  of  Mr.  Calderon’s  letters : — 

“ Last  night  — to  my  regret  — I finished  the  last  chapter  of  your 
‘ French  and  English.’  I am  delighted  with  its  truth.  Remem- 
ber (as  an  excuse  for  giving  an  opinion  so  freely)  that  I too  am 
very  fairly  acquainted  with  both  countries  — their  capitals  and 
provinces.” 

The  book,  as  I have  said,  was  translated  into  French,  and, 
as  usual,  the  author  took  the  trouble  of  revising  the  transla- 
tion. Far  from  taking  any  pride  in  the  fact  that  the  trans- 
lation of  his  works  was  desired  and  sought  after,  he  dreaded 
it,  and  would  even  have  opposed  it,  had  the  thing  been  in 
his  power.  The  inevitable  loss  of  his  style  — upon  which  he 
always  bestowed  such  conscientious  care  — was  to  him  almost 
unbearable. 

Roberts  Brothers  did  not  appear  dissatisfied  with  the 
American  sale,  for  they  said:  “We  have  sold  fifteen  hundred 
copies,  and  are  quite  ready  for  another  popular  book.” 


34 


530 


MEMOIR. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

1890-1891 

Decision  to  live  near  Paris.  — Practice  in  painting  and  etching.  — Search 
for  a house.  — CMmatis. 

We  left  home  on  December  21,  1890,  and  spent  a day  and 
two  nights  very  agreeably  at  Dijon  with  the  parents  of  our 
son-in-law.  Then  we  went  on  to  Paris  by  an  early  morning 
train,  which  necessitated  our  lunching  in  the  carriage. 

We  were  to  stay  with  our  daughter  and  her  husband,  but 
Gilbert  took  a separate  study  for  his  work,  in  a quiet  house 
in  the  same  street. 

My  husband  had  himself  made  a careful  drawing  for 
Richard’s  monument,  and  now,  being  in  Paris,  we  went  to 
see  it,  and  wished  to  have  it  completed  by  an  inscription. 
Hitherto  we  had  not  agreed  about  any,  but  as  we  were  sadly 
recalling  his  last  intimate  talk,  it  seemed  that  the  desire  for 
“ Peace  ” which  he  had  expressed  should  be  recorded  as  an 
acquittal  of  the  deed  which  brought  the  fulfilment  of  his 
wish.  And  his  father  caused  the  word  elprjvrj,  to  be  engraved 
at  the  head  of  the  tombstone. 

M.  Pelletier,  having  been  promoted  to  the  ^conomat  of  the 
old  and  famous  Lycee  Henri  IV. , — where  so  many  celebrated 
Frenchmen  have  been  educated,  — took  pleasure  in  showing 
us  the  most  ancient  or  curious  parts  of  the  building,  such 
as  La  Tour  Clovis,  the  vaulted  kitchen,  the  painted  cupola 
over  the  staircase,  and  the  delicately  carved  panels  of  the  old 
monks’  library  — now  the  Professors’  billiard-room. 

My  husband  was  much  interested  by  this  visit,  and  repeated 
it  shortly  after  in  the  company  of  M.  and  Mme.  Manesse,  M. 
and  Mme.  L.  Flameng,  M.  Pelletier  acting  as  cicerone. 

It  being  the  season  of  the  Epiphany,  our  niece  had  the 
traditional  cake  served  on  the  tea-table,  and  the  royal  honors 


MEMOIR. 


531 


fell  to  the  lot  of  her  uncle.  He  chose  Madame  Flameng  for 
his  queen,  and  they  made  us  pass  a merry  hour  under  their 
joint  rule. 

The  serious  part  of  the  talk  had  concerned  the  possibility 
of  engaging  L.  Flameng  to  engrave  one  of  his  son’s  pictures. 
He  had  consented,  and  my  husband  called  upon  Francis 
Flameng  to  make  a choice. 

On  his  return  he  gave  me  a description  of  the  studios  and 
library,  which  are  very  curious,  and  offered  to  take  me  with 
him  on  his  next  visit,  to  renew  my  old  acquaintance  with 
the  now  celebrated  artist.  But  my  infirmity  would  have 
rendered  awkward  the  introduction  to  his  young  wife,  to 
whom  the  memories  of  previous  friendship  did  not  extend. 

Writing  once  to  Mr.  Seeley  about  my  deafness,  my  hus- 
band had  said:  “ She  sits  surrounded  by  a silent  world,  and 
sees  people’s  lips  move  and  their  gestures.  How  difficult  it 
is  to  imagine  such  a state  of  existence!  As  for  me,  I suffer 
from  the  opposite  inconvenience  of  hearing  too  well.  When 
I am  unwell  my  hearing  is  preternaturally  acute,  so  that  my 
watch  in  my  waistcoat  ticks  as  if  it  were  held  almost  close  to 
my  ear.” 

Being  desirous  of  forming  a sound  opinion  about  the  present 
state  of  the  fine  arts  in  France,  Mr.  Hamerton  went  to  visit 
the  New  Sorbonne,  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  the  Lycee  Janson, 
the  new  pictures  in  the  Museum  of  the  Luxembourg,  those 
in  the  private  exhibition  of  M.  Durand-Ruel,  as  well  as 
the  exhibitions  at  Messrs.  Goupil’s  and  Petit’s.  He  saw 
J.  P.  Laurens’  “ Voute  d’Acier,”  M.  Rodin’s  studio,  and  the 
Musee  du  Mobilier  National,  with  its  beautiful  tapestries. 

We  left  Paris  at  the  end  of  January  and  returned  home, 
my  husband  having  got  through  a vast  amount  of  work  with 
ease  and  pleasure,  and  with  a new  hopeful  confidence  in  his 
powers  of  acquisition  and  endurance,  and  also  with  a gratify- 
ing sense  of  his  acknowledged  standing  — even  in  France  — 
among  celebrated  artists  and  men  of  letters. 

At  the  Easter  family  gathering  our  possible  change  of  resi- 
dence was  exhaustively  discussed.  The  state  of  the  buildings 
at  La  Tuilerie  was  growing  worse  and  worse  every  day,  and 


532 


MEMOIR. 


my  brother’s  opinion,  as  an  architect,  having  been  asked  for, 
was  that  the  time  for  very  important  repairs  could  no  longer 
be  postponed:  new  roofs  would  have  to  be  built,  one  of  the 
walls  strengthened,  the  floor  tiles  taken  up;  and  the  wood- 
work of  every  window  was  so  rotten  that  it  could  no  longer 
hold  the  iron  with  which  it  had  already  been  mended. 

Mary  and  her  husband  represented  what  a heavy  outlay 
would  be  required  if  we  undertook  these  repairs,  and  also 
said,  with  great  truth,  that  after  it  we  should  feel  bound  to 
the  house  on  account  of  the  money  spent  on  it.  It  was  an 
opportunity  for  changing  a mode  of  life  no  longer  adapted  to 
our  wants  nor  to  our  years.  Why  such  a big  house  for  two 
solitary  beings  ? . . . And  now  that  their  father  was  subject 
to  attacks  of  gout  and  not  so  sure  of  immunity  from  colds, 
was  he  to  continue  to  have  the  care  of  horses  and  to  drive 
in  an  open  carriage  in  all  weathers  ? Could  we  be  so  easily 
reconciled  to  the  idea  of  never  seeing  them  longer  than  the 
short  space  of  five  weeks  every  year,  when  there  was  no  plau- 
sible reason  for  being  so  far  apart?  . . . Their  father  dis- 
liked great  cities,  but  he  would  not  be  obliged  to  live  inside 
Paris;  there  were  plenty  of  comfortable  and  quiet  villas  in 
the  neighborhood  or  in  the  suburbs,  from  which  Paris  would 
be  accessible  by  the  Seine,  thus  rendering  a great  part  of  his 
work  so  much  easier. 

He,  on  his  part,  objected  that  living  would  be  more  expen- 
sive ; that  he  would  not  be  so  well  situated  for  working  from 
nature;  and  last  of  all  that,  if  he  decided  for  a change,  he 
would  expect  to  be  so  near  to  Mary  and  her  husband  as  to  be 
able  to  reach  them  on  foot  and  in  a short  time,  for  he  could 
not  be  reconciled  to  the  loss  of  a whole  day  every  time  he 
went  to  see  them.  “The  two  requisites,”  he  said  — “life 
in  the  country  and  frequent  meetings  — cannot  be  reconciled 
together.  ” 

M.  Raillard  and  his  wife  praised  Montmorency,  Meudon, 
Marly,  and  St.  Germain,  which  they  had  visited  on  purpose, 
but  he  answered  that  any  of  these  places  would  be  too  far  off. 

However,  when  Stephen,  Mary,  and  her  husband  had  left 
us,  their  father  was  not  proof  against  melancholy  thoughts, 


MEMOIR. 


533 


from  which  he  did  not  always  find  refuge  in  work.  The 
following  note  in  the  diary  is  a proof  of  it : “ April  5.  Did 
not  feel  disposed  to  work,  on  account  of  the  children’s 
departure.” 

The  solitude  of  our  lives  had  also  been  considerably  in- 
creased by  the  deaths  of  five  Autunois  friends,  and  by  the 
departure  of  M.  Schmitt  with  his  family.  My  husband  wrote 
to  him : — 

“ Vous  me  demandez  des  nouvelles  d’Autun,  mais  depuis  votre 
depart  nous  y allons  le  moins  possible.  Je  n’ai  rien  k y faire,  pres- 
que  plus  personne  k y voir.  Je  crains  meme  qu’au  bout  d’un 
certain  temps  cet  isolement  ne  produise  un  facheux  &at  dans  mon 
esprit.  Je  me  plonge  dans  le  travail,  le  refuge  des  gens  isoles.” 

Shortly  after  Easter  there  came  an  attack  of  gout,  this  time 
in  one  knee,  and  Gilbert  was  naturally  disturbed  by  the  con- 
viction that  the  disease  had  become  more  threatening  now 
that  it  was  going  up.  He  became  more  alive  to  the  difficul- 
ties of  our  present  conditions  of  existence  in  the  country , and 
more  willing  to  consider  the  desirability  of  a change.  The 
business  of  the  “ Portfolio  ” would  be  so  much  more  easily 
and  promptly  transacted  if  he  were  in  Paris;  correspondence 
with  England  so  much  more  rapid,  and  the  length  of  journeys 
to  London  diminished  so  appreciably  that  all  these  considera- 
tions were  of  great  weight  in  the  final  decision,  as  well  as 
others  of  a different  nature. 

I could  not  hope  to  hide  from  Gilbert  the  void  left  in  my 
life  by  the  loss  of  one  of  my  sons,  and  the  absence  of  a 
daughter  who  had  never  left  me  before  for  any  length  of  time ; 
nor  the  sorrowful  recollections  incessantly  awakened  by  the 
surrounding  scenes  and  objects,  and  he  began  to  think  that  to 
break  the  chain  of  such  painful  associations  might  be  bene- 
ficial to  me.  This,  I believe,  dictated  his  letter  of  May  8 
to  Mary,  in  which  he  told  her  that  she  might  make  serious 
inquiries  for  a house,  as  he  had  definitely  decided  to  go  and 
live  near  Paris. 

Mr.  Seeley  was  very  glad  to  hear  that  the  editor  of  the 
“Portfolio  ” would  be  nearer  to  England;  he  said:  “ I hope 


534 


MEMOIR. 


you  will  get  comfortably  settled  in  the*suburbs  of  Paris.  If 
I may  judge  by  my  own  experience  I do  not  think  you 
will  regret  the  change.  I have  never  done  so  for  a moment, 
although  I was  fond  of  Kingston.” 

Since  he  had  been  last  at  Burnley,  and  had  seen  again  the 
pictures  painted  at  Sens  for  Mr.  Handsley,  my  husband  had 
been  dissatisfied  with  them.  The  development  of  knowledge, 
skill,  and  the  critical  faculty  made  him  intolerant  of  the 
shortcomings  of  that  early  period,  and  hopeful  of  doing  better 
work  now.  So  he  wrote  to  Mr.  Handsley,  and  proposed  to 
paint  him  two  new  pictures  to  replace  the  old  ones.  In  the 
reply  he  was  begged  to  think  of  no  such  thing,  as  although 
the  pictures  might  not  be  quite  satisfactory  to  him,  the  owner 
valued  them  as  among  the  earliest  productions  of  the  artist. 
But  Gilbert  insisted  on  being  allowed  to  replace  at  least  the 
view  of  Sens  by  another  subject  — already  begun  and  about 
which  he  felt  hopeful  — and  finally  it  was  left  to  him  to  do 
as  he  liked. 

It  is  a curious  thing  that,  feeling  as  he  did  the  pressure  of 
work,  he  should  have  been  always  ready  to  undertake  some 
additional  task.  At  that  moment,  when  he  had  so  little  spare 
time,  he  had  promised  (for  an  indefinite  date,  it  is  true),  a 
picture  of  Mont  Beuvray  for  M.  Bulliot,  and  others  of  Pre- 
Charmoy  for  Alice  Gindriez,  his  sister-in-law;  Mary  also  was 
to  have  her  share.  The  pictures  intended  for  Alice  Gindriez 
had  been  painted  several  times  over,  and  destroyed,  and  the 
one  for  Mr.  Handsley  had  already  passed  through  various 
changes  of  effect,  but  it  looked  very  promising.  The  artist 
intended  to  send  it  to  the  Salon,  and  had  even  ordered  the 
frame ; but  our  removal  having  interrupted  painting  for  a long 
time,  it  remained  unfinished,  though  it  was  taken  up  again  at 
intervals. 

It  is  my  belief  that  artistic  work,  in  spite  of  its  disappoint- 
ments, proved  a relief  and  a distraction  to  my  husband;  but 
it  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  his  own  standard  should  have 
been  so  high,  for  it  prevented  him  from  completing  and  keep- 
ing many  etchings  and  pictures  which,  if  not  perfect,  still 
possessed  great  charms.  It  is  also  a subject  for  regret  that 


MEMOIR . 


535 


he  should  have  been  led  to  undertake  large  pictures  of  moun- 
tain scenery  — so  difficult  to  render  adequately.  If  the  time 
spent  in  fighting  against  these  difficulties  had  been  bestowed 
upon  smaller  canvases  and  less  ambitious  subjects,  he  would 
undoubtedly  have  succeeded  in  forming  quite  a collection. 
The  greater  part  of  his  studies  are  graceful  in  composition, 
harmonious  in  color,  tender  and  true  in  sentiment  — why 
should  not  the  pictures  have  possessed  the  same  qualities? 
The  main  reason  for  his  failing  to  express  himself  in  art,  is 
that  he  was  too  much  attracted  by  the  sublime  in  Nature,  and 
that  the  power  to  convey  the  impression  of  sublimity  has 
only  been  granted  to  the  greatest  among  artists. 

In  May  there  came  a triumphant  letter  from  Mary  saying 
that  she  had  discovered  the  very  house  wanted  by  her  father, 
uniting  in  incredible  perfection  every  one  of  the  conditions 
he  had  laid  down.  Once,  being  hard  pressed  to  give  his  con- 
sent to  a change  of  residence,  he  had  playfully  spread  a plan 
of  Paris  on  the  table,  and  had  stuck  a pin  in  it,  saying  at  the 
same  time:  “When  you  find  me  a suitable  house  there , in 
this  situation  and  at  that  distance  from  you,  I promise  to  take 
it.”  It  was  considered  as  a joke,  but  Mary  now  affirmed  that 
the  Villa  Clematis  was  at  the  exact  distance  from  the  Rue  de 
la  Tour  (where  she  lived)  that  her  father  had  mentioned. 
Moreover,  the  roads  in  the  avenues  leading  from  Clematis  to 
Passy  were  excellent  for  a velocipede,  or  he  could  reach  her 
in  a charming  walk  of  less  than  an  hour  — through  the  Bois 
de  Boulogne  — and  by  rail  three  minutes  only  were  required 
from  the  station  of  Boulogne  to  that  of  Passy.  The  rent  was 
moderate,  and  although  higher  than  our  present  one,  would 
still  be  within  our  means,  if  it  were  taken  into  consideration 
that  neither  horse  nor  carriage  would  be  necessary. 

The  villa  was  in  the  Parc  des  Princes,  which  offered  several 
advantages.  No  shops  or  factories  of  any  kind  being  allowed 
within  the  park,  its  peacefulness  was  never  disturbed  by  the 
noise  of  traffic.  The  houses,  which  varied  in  sizes  from  the 
simple  ordinary  villa  to  the  h6tel  or  chateau,  were  each  sur- 
rounded by  a garden,  small  or  large;  and  long  avenues  of  fine 
trees  so  encircled  the  park  that  its  existence  was  not  much 


536 


MEMOIR. 


known  outside.  Quite  close  to  it,  however,  was  the  town  of 
Boulogne,  with  its  well-provided  market  and  shops,  and  at 
a distance  of  a few  minutes  the  chemin-de-fer  de  ceinture , a 
line  of  tramways,  one  of  omnibuses,  and  the  steamboats  not 
very  far  off.  Clematis  had  a very  small  garden  — a recom- 
mendation to  my  husband  — but  was  still  sufficiently  isolated 
from  the  neighboring  villas  by  their  own  grounds  on  each 
side.  There  was  a veranda  looking  over  the  little  garden, 
and  a large  balcony  over  the  veranda;  the  dining  and  draw- 
ing-rooms were  divided  by  double  folding  doors,  and  both 
had  access  to  the  veranda  by  porte-fenetres ; the  low  and 
wide  marble  cliimney-pieces  were  surmounted  by  plate-glass 
windows  affording  a sight  of  trees  and  flowers,  and  giving  a 
most  light  and  cheerful  effect  to  the  rooms.  There  were 
several  well-aired  bedrooms,  and  under  the  house  vaulted 
cellars  to  keep  it  healthy  and  dry. 

Such  was  the  description  sent  us,  which  we  found  perfectly 
accurate  when  we  visited  the  house  the  very  day  of  our  arrival 
at  Passy,  on  June  1,  1891.  The  diary  says  about  it:  “ Went 
to  Boulogne  to  see  the  Villa  Clematis.  On  the  whole  pleased 
with  it.”  As  for  me,  I was  charmed  with  it  after  all  the 
inconveniences  I had  had  to  put  up  with,  hitherto,  in  our 
rough  country  houses. 

We  had  been  told  that  the  rents  were  low  at  Billancourt, 
and  we  went  there  to  ascertain,  but  we  did  not  like  the  horrid 
state  of  the  roads,  nor  the  unfinished  streets,  the  result  of 
house-building  all  over  the  place. 

We  also  saw  Vanves  and  the  Chateau  d’lssy,  in  which 
there  were  two  pavilions  to  let.  Gilbert’s  fancy  was  so  much 
taken  by  one  of  them  that  I began  to  dread  he  might  want 
to  live  in  it.  He  wrote  in  the  diary:  “The  place  seemed 
curious  and  romantic.  Three  very  fine  lofty  rooms,  a number 
of  small  ones.  Plenty  of  space.  Not  much  convenience; 
wife  not  at  all  pleased  with  it.  ” It  would  have  been  much 
worse  than  anything  I had  experienced  before.  The  house 
was  dark,  being  surrounded  and  over-topped  by  a small  but 
dense  park  climbing  up  an  eminence  above  it;  all  the  rain- 
water coming  down  this  slope  remained  in  stagnant  pools 


MEMOIR. 


537 


about  the  lower  story,  the  stones  of  which  were  of  a dull  and 
dirty  green,  being  covered  with  moss.  There  was  a queer 
circuitous  kitchen  round  the  base  of  the  stairs,  and  the  dishes 
prepared  in  it  would  have  had  to  be  carried  up  the  stairs 
through  an  outside  passage  before  arriving  on  the  dining-room 
table.  Then  I wondered  how  the  “ fine , lofty  rooms  ” (damp 
with  moisture  and  cold  with  tiled  floors)  could  be  warmed  in 
winter,  and  also  lighted;  for  they  all  looked  upon  the  tree- 
clad  hill  rising  up  hardly  a few  feet  from  the  windows.  All 
that  was  nothing  to  Gilbert,  who  only  saw  in  perspective  so 
many  spacious  studios  and  workrooms.  At  last  I noticed  that 
a paved  road  wound  round  the  outside  of  the  pavilion,  and 
just  as  I was  pointing  it  out,  there  came  several  heavily 
laden  carts  thundering  along,  and  shaking  the  whole  building 
quite  perceptibly.  My  husband  had  enough  of  it  after  that, 
and  I rejoiced  inwardly  at  the  opportune  appearance  of  those 
carts.  The  day  after,  the  diary  says:  “Went  in  the  after- 
noon to  Sevres.  Found  the  place  divided  into  two  parts:  the 
lower,  which  smells  badly,  and  the  upper,  which  is  all  but 
inaccessible,  being  up  a steep  hill.  Renounced  Sevres.” 

Besides  looking  about  for  a house,  we  went  frequently  to 
the  Salons,  there  being  two  now,  and  my  husband  regularly 
continued  his  work.  Mr.  Seeley  wrote : “ The  quickness 
with  which  your  letters  come  gives  me  a pleasant  feeling  as 
regards  the  future.” 

To  my  inexpressible  delight  “ Clematis”  was  chosen  for 
our  future  abode,  after  other  fruitless  researches;  indeed,  in 
my  opinion  it  was  impossible  to  find  anything  better  suited  to 
our  wants  — and  what  sounds  almost  incredible,  the  situation 
of  the  Parc  des  Princes  was  found  to  be  exactly  where  Gilbert 
had  pricked  the  pin  in  the  plan  of  Paris. 

The  little  garden  looked  very  pretty  now  in  June,  with  the 
pillars  of  the  veranda  all  blue  with  flowers  of  the  climbing 
clematis,  and  the  cornice  loaded  with  the  pink  and  white 
bouquets  of  roses.  The  wild  clematis,  Virginia  creeper,  and 
honeysuckle  clothed  the  trunks  of  every  tree,  whilst  their 
roots  were  hidden  by  flowers  and  ferns  of  various  kinds. 

Another  pleasant  feature  of  the  park  was  the  quantity  of 


538 


MEMOIR. 


singing  birds;  there  were  larks,  blackcaps,  white-throats,  and 
blackbirds,  no  doubt  attracted  by  the  security  and  peace  they 
enjoyed  all  the  year  round  — no  shooting  being  allowed  either 
in  the  park  or  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne. 

My  husband  wished  to  appropriate  all  the  upper  story  of 
Clematis  to  his  work,  so  as  to  have  within  easy  reach  every- 
thing he  wanted  for  it,  and  at  the  same  time  to  escape  from 
all  household  noises.  The  large  middle  room  with  the  bal- 
cony would  be  his  study  and  atelier,  only  he  required  more 
light  for  painting,  and  a tall  window  was  made  for  him. 
One  of  the  small  rooms  was  to  be  a laboratory,  the  other  a 
sort  of  storeroom  for  papers,  panels,  frames,  canvases,  colors, 
etc.,  and  one  of  the  garrets  a joiner’s  shop.  Bookcases  were 
to  be  placed  against  all  the  walls  of  the  studio,  which  would 
serve  as  a library  at  the  same  time. 


MEMOIR. 


539 


CHAPTER  XX. 

1891-1894. 

Removal  to  Paris. — Interest  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  — M.  Vierge. — 
“ Man  in  Art.”  — Contributions  to  “ Scribner’s  Magazine.”  — New 
form  of  “ The  Portfolio.”  — Honorary  degree.  — Last  Journey  to 
London.  — Society  of  Illustrators.  — Illness  and  death. 

We  were  no  sooner  home  again  than  the  transformation  of 
my  husband’s  study  and  laboratory  furniture  began.  He  had 
carefully  taken  all  the  necessary  measurements,  and  he  now 
set  two  joiners  to  work  under  his  direction. 

Of  course  we  had  some  months  of  discomfort  and  fatigue, 
with  the  packing  up  and  the  sale  which  preceded  our  departure. 
At  one  time  I was  almost  in  despair  of  ever  getting  through , 
Gilbert  being  so  very  exacting  about  the  packing  that  we  had 
to  wrap  up  each  single  book  separately,  and  to  fold  up  care- 
fully every  sheet  or  bit  of  paper  without  creases.  It  was  one 
of  his  characteristics,  this  respectful  care  he  took  of  books 
and  papers ; it  went  so  far  that  he  could  hardly  bring  himself 
to  destroy  waste-paper;  and  when  he  had  not  quite  filled  a 
page  with  his  writing,  he  would  cut  off  the  white  piece  and 
lay  it  aside  in  a drawer  for  further  use ; nay  more , after  mak- 
ing use  of  these  fragments  of  paper  for  notes  which  had  been 
copied  out,  he  drew  a line  of  red  or  blue  pencil  across  the 
writing,  and  returned  the  paper  to  another  drawer  to  be  used 
on  the  other  side.  And  it  was  not  for  the  sake  of  economy, 
for  he  was  frequently  indulging  in  the  purchase  of  note-books, 
pocket-books,  memorandum-books,  etc.  Ho;  it  was  a sort  of 
instinctive  respect.  If  any  one  held  a book  carelessly,  or  let 
it  fall,  he  was  absolutely  miserable,  and  could  not  refrain 
from  remonstrating.  When  we  unpacked,  he  directed  a man 
to  fold  up  the  papers  which  had  been  used  as  wrappers,  and 
when  I told  him  that  the  papers  were  not  worth  the  man’s 
wages  and  had  better  be  thrown  into  the  street,  he  looked 


540 


MEMOIR. 


surprised,  and  reluctantly  allowed  them  to  be  stuffed  into  the 
empty  boxes ; but  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  remain  while 
it  was  being  done. 

It  was  hard  to  break  away  from  the  associations  of  so  many 
years,  and  the  last  meal  we  took  tete-a-tete  in  the  dining- 
room, emptied  of  all  its  furniture  except  a small  table  and 
two  chairs,  was  a melancholy  one.  I swallowed  many  a 
tear,  and  Gilbert’s  voice  was  somewhat  tremulous  when  he 
attempted  to  talk. 

Roberts  Brothers  had  inquired  early  in  the  year  if  Mr. 
Hamerton  had  decided  about  a new  book,  and  had  been 
answered  in  the  affirmative.  They  now  said:  “We  hasten 
to  reply  to  your  query.  Yes,  we  think  ‘ The  Quest  of  Hap- 
piness ’ an  admirable  title  for  a book  destined  for  the  popular 
heart — so  happy  that  it  will  of  itself  sell  it.  Don’t  meditate 
about  doing  it  too  long.  ” 

Messrs.  A.  and  C.  Black  had  also  proposed  that  Mr. 
Hamerton’s  articles  for  the  “ Encyclopaedia  Britannica  ” 
should  be  revised  and  enlarged  so  as  to  make  an  interesting 
and  valuable  “ Hand-book  to  Drawing  and  Engraving,”  and 
the  author  had  agreed  to  undertake  the  work.  They  were  so 
considerate  as  to  send  a copy  of  the  “ Encyclopaedia  ” to  the 
writer,  who  had  long  desired  to  possess  it,  and  who  valued  it 
as  a treasure.  He  had  a special  bookcase  made  for  it,  with 
many  divisions,  to  preserve  the  volumes  from  too  much  rub- 
bing, and  was  pleased  with  their  handsome  appearance  in  his 
library. 

A letter  received  in  the  autumn  may  offer  some  interest  to 
the  reader.  It  tells  of  a rather  curious  occurrence.  The 
writer  had  been  occasionally  in  correspondence  with  the 
author  of  “ Wenderholme,”  and,  living  in  Lancashire,  had 
greatly  appreciated  the  accuracy  of  the  descriptions  and  char- 
acters in  that  locality.  Two  years  before  he  had  discovered 
“Thursday,”  and  under  his  guidance  had  visited  the  site  of 
the  first  camp  at  Widdup,  and  noted  the  changes;  now  he 
wrote  again,  giving  an  account  of  his  experiences  during  a 
little  visit  to  the  Bronte  country,  and  explaining  at  some 
length  that  he  was  “ driven  by  bad  weather  to  the  ‘ house  ’ 


MEMOIR. 


541 


(you  will  remember  the  sense  in  which  the  word  is  used  in 
the  district)  occupied  by  the  wrangling  drunkard.  The  talk 
turning  upon  a hut  which  had  been  erected  by  a mon  through 
Halifax  for  the  grouse-shooting,  evoked  a reminiscence  from 
the  only  (relatively)  sober  member  of  the  party,  of  another 
mon  — a hartist  — who,  aboon  thirty  year  sin’ , built  a hut  at 
Widdup,  and  hed  a gurt  big  dog,  and  young  Helliwell,  ower 
at  Jerusalem,  wor  then  a lad,  and  used  to  bring  him  (the 
mon)  milk,  and  in  the  end  gat  ta’en  on  as  sarvant,  and  went 
wi’  him  to  Scotland  and  all  ower  — you  may  imagine  my 
delight  . . . 

“ I was  sorry  to  hear  that  Thursday  was  not  in  very  good 
health.  He  is,  however,  married,  and  the  proud  father  of  a 
little  girl  — Mary  Alice.  He  seems  very  comfortable,  and 
has  promised  me  a photograph  of  himself  by  way  of  a frontis- 
piece to  my  copy  of  the  ‘Painter’s  Camp.’ 

“ I trust  I am  not  boring  you ; but  I thought  that  you 
might  like  to  know  that  you  and  your  encampment  are  still 
remembered  in  the  district.” 

It  always  pleased  Gilbert  to  have  news  of  the  people  and 
places  associated  in  his  mind  and  affections  with  his  youth, 
and  his  interest  in  them  never  grew  cold  with  years. 

Our  new  installation  at  Clematis  was  much  simplified  by 
the  fact  that  everything  from  La  Tuilerie  had  been  sent  in 
advance. 

In  order  not  to  keep  Gilbert  too  long  from  his  work,  the 
study  was  first  arranged,  and  he  was  well  pleased  with  it; 
indeed,  he  said  he  had  never  been  so  conveniently  or  com- 
fortably established  “for  his  work  ” before;  but  still  I saw, 
with  pain,  that  he  looked  depressed  in  spite  of  himself. 

New  Year’s  Day  saw  us  established  in  the  new  house,  and 
regular  habits  of  work  resumed. 

Having  two  spare  bedrooms,  our  children  came  to  use  them 
during  the  Christmas  holidays,  and  we  had  some  pleasant 
meetings  with  M.  Pelletier  and  his  family.  It  was  by  a sort 
of  tacit  understanding  that  almost  every  Sunday  we  lunched, 
in  turn,  at  each  other’s  houses,  — once  at  Clematis,  then  at 
Madame  Raillard’s,  and  afterwards  at  M.  Pelletier’s.  After 


542 


MEMOIR. 


lunch  we  had  a long  walk  either  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne, 
Parc  de  St.  Cloud,  Jardin  du  Luxembourg,  or  Jardin  des 
Plantes;  but  although  Gilbert  enjoyed  these  strolls,  they  did 
not  make  up  for  the  loss  of  the  country;  neither  did  the 
Seine  replace  the  Saone,  and  Mr.  Seeley  said:  “I  am  sorry 
the  Seine  is  not  what  it  ought  to  he.  You  will  miss  your 
old  amusement  of  sailing,  for  which  steaming  will  he  a poor 
substitute.” 

We  all  tried  to  find  something  that  might  take  his  fancy, 
and  we  went  to  see  the  Marne.  He  said  it  afforded  refresh- 
ing and  pretty  scenes;  hut  he  was  not  enthusiastic  about  its 
character.  I plainly  saw  that  what  I had  feared  had  come  to 
pass  — namely,  that  this  new  way  of  life  did  not  suit  him  so 
well  as  the  old,  and  that,  despite  the  greater  facilities,  he 
did  not  seem  to  work  to  his  own  satisfaction,  and  felt  dull. 
This  lasted  for  some  time.  Mr.  Seeley  humorously  teased 
him  about  it,  and  suggested  that  he  should  write  for  an 
American  magazine  an  article  on  “ The  Dulness  of  Paris.” 
He  went  on : “ If  you  could  only  run  over  here  to  roam  about 
our  Kentish  hills,  you  would  soon  be  all  right  again.  They 
are  covered  with  millions  of  wood  anemones,  violets,  prim- 
roses, cuckoo  flowers,  and  blue-bells;  and  the  low  ground  is  gay 
with  marsh-marigolds.  ” Alas ! the  Bois  offered  all  this  in  pro- 
fusion, but  for  flowers  Gilbert  never  really  cared;  he  merely 
appreciated  their  valeur  in  the  harmony  of  a landscape.  He 
thus  explained  his  feelings,  in  answer  to  Mr.  Seeley : — 

“ My  complaints  about  the  dulness  of  Paris  refer  to  the  peculiar 
state  of  mind  the  place  always  induces  in  myself,  that  is,  ennui. 
Now,  the  ennuye  state  of  mind  is  the  worst  possible  for  a writer, 
because  his  interest  in  things  ought  always  to  remain  keen  and 
lively ; he  ought  to  have  the  intelligence  of  a man  with  the  interest 
of  a child.  I believe  Paris  to  be,  on  the  whole,  the  most  endurable 
of  great  cities,  that  in  which  the  disagreeables  of  such  places  are 
most  successfully  palliated.  For  instance,  I can  go  from  here  to  the 
Louvre  in  magnificent  avenues  all  the  way.  But,  for  a writer,  it 
is  not  enough  to  find  life  endurable ; he  ought  to  be  keenly  in- 
terested. My  life  at  Autun  was  pleasant  and  refreshing ; at  Loch 
Awe  it  was  an  enchantment.  However,  I did  not  come  here  for 
my  pleasure.” 


MEMOIR . 


543 


And  work  was  crowding  upon  him;  besides  “ Man  in  Art,” 
which  had  been  put  aside  since  the  interruption  necessitated 
by  the  removal,  the  editor  of  the  “ Forum,”  Mr.  Walter  H. 
Page,  asked  for  an  article  on  the  “ Effects  on  Popular  Educa- 
tion of  Great  Art  Collections. ” He  said : “I  am  glad  to  be 
able  to  tell  you  that  some  of  the  best  American  newspapers 
have  discussed  your  article  on  the  ‘ Learning  of  Languages/ 
and  that  I have  many  evidences  of  the  appreciation  of  a large 
number  of  our  most  cultivated  people.” 

The  editor  of  the  “ Illustrated  London  News  ” also  wished 
for  a series  of  articles  on  “ French  Life,”  and  was  very  sorry 
that  Mr.  Hamerton  could  not  undertake  them  for  want  of 
time,  and  the  publisher  of  the  “Portfolio  ” would  have  been 
pleased  to  get  reviews  of  the  annual  Salons  from  the  editor’s 
pen. 

Early  in  the  spring,  as  soon  as  the  weather  permitted  it, 
we  began  to  go  regularly  with  M.  and  Mme.  Raillard  to  the 
prettiest  places  in  the  neighborhood  of  Paris  to  spend  the 
Thursdays  and  Sundays.  We  were  frequently  joined  by 
the  Pelletier  family,  and  had  picnics  together  in  sheltered 
nooks.  We  started  early  in  the  morning,  carried  our  pro- 
visions with  the  exception  of  beer,  wine,  and  bread,  which 
could  always  be  bought  anywhere,  and  roamed  about  or  rested 
till  the  end  of  the  day.  In  this  pleasant  and  independent 
manner  we  saw  St.  Germain,  — the  forest  and  chateau,  — by 
which  my  husband  was  much  impressed ; the  lakes  and  Bois 
de  Vincennes;  the  park  at  Marly,  L’ Yvette;  the  mills  of 
Meaux,  St.  Kemy ; the  Chateau  de  Chevreuse,  Bougival,  Ville 
d’Avray,  La  Celle  St.  Cloud,  La  Terrasse  de  Meudon,  Le 
Vesinet,  Nogent-sur-Marne;  the  ponds  at  Garches,  L’Abbaye 
des  Vaux-de-Cernay,  Mareuil-Marly,  Melun,  and  L’Etang  de 
St.  Cucufa,  with  its  surroundings  of  luxuriant  vegetation  and 
noble  trees. 

These  walks  in  the  country  — much  more  of  the  real  country 
than  my  husband  had  ever  expected  to  find  so  near  Paris  — 
began  to  reconcile  him  to  his  new  life ; but  what  helped  most 
towards  this  reconciliation  was  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  with 
its  hidden  charms  and  beauties,  which  he  had  the  pleasure  of 


544 


MEMOIR. 


discovering  for  himself,  never  having  heard  of  them.  For 
the  parts  of  the  Bois  best  known  and  always  offered  to  admi- 
ration are  the  most  artificial,  and  the  resorts  of  fashion, 
equipages,  and  crowds;  the  cascade,  the  lakes,  the  Allee  des 
Acacias,  the  Pre-Catelan,  and  La  Grande  Pelouse,  while 
there  are  enough  solitary  nooks  and  unfrequented  alleys, 
thick  underwoods,  open  vistas,  and  groups  of  graceful  and 
handsome  trees  to  interest  a lover  of  landscape  for  miles  and 
miles,  without  any  other  disturbance  than  a chance  meeting 
with  a timid  rabbit  or  a curious  deer. 

No  sooner  had  Gilbert  found  out  that  there  existed  in  the 
Bois  real  and  extensive  woodland  scenery  — almost  untrodden 
and  unexplored,  than  it  became  a pleasure  to  start  on  his  tri- 
cycle, followed  by  his  dog,  for  an  early  ride  under  the  dewy 
branches,  in  the  light  and  fragrant  mist  rising  from  the  moist 
mosses  and  wild-flowers  under  the  first  rays  of  the  sun.  From 
these  healthy  rides  he  returned  to  his  first  dejeuner  much 
exhilarated,  having  breathed  fresh  air  without  the  sensation 
of  confinement  so  painful  to  him.  Gradually  he  came  across 
various  scenes  which  he  felt  attracted  to  paint,  and  then  his 
liking  for  the  Bois  was  formed.  There  were  among  others, 
La  Mare  d’Auteuil,  the  incomparable  group  of  grand  old  oaks, 
a single  branch  of  which  would  have  made  a fine  tree;  the 
ponds  of  Boulogne;  the  varied  views  of  the  Seine,  with  the 
gay  and  sunny  slopes  from  the  walks  running  parallel  to 
the  river.  Then  the  mill  and  its  surrounding  fields,  quiet 
at  times  with  browsing  cows  knee -deep  in  the  rich  grass,  or 
at  other  times  alive  with  merry  mowers  and  hay-makers. 
Several  views  of  Mont  Yalerien,  looming  in  the  haze  of  the 
after-glow,  or  in  dark  contrast  with  the  splendor  of  the  after- 
noon sunshine,  also  caught  my  husband’s  attention;  as  well 
as  numberless  other  places  without  a name,  which  pleased 
him  for  one  sort  of  beauty  or  another.  After  each  new  dis- 
covery, he  wanted  me  to  go  with  him  to  see,  and  whenever 
it  was  possible,  and  at  a walking  distance  from  the  house,  I 
took  a book  with  me  and  read  to  him  as  he  sketched.  By  a 
few  notes  in  the  diary  it  will  be  seen  that  his  explorations 
extended  to  rather  long  distances  from  the  house : — 


MEMOIR. 


545 


“ Went  to  L’Alma  on  the  tricycle.  Found  capital  place  for 
studying  boats  not  far  from  the  Pont  d’lena.” 

“ Went  round  by  Bois  to  Rothschild’s,  till  I came  to  bridge  of  St. 
Cloud  and  to  the  house  — lovely  play  of  lights  on  the  water  and 
upon  the  heights.” 

“ In  afternoon  rode  as  far  as  Argenteuil,  and  saw  Texier’s  boat- 
building establishment  there,  and  the  fleet  of  pleasure-boats.” 

“ Went  to  Asni&res  on  tricycle  by  the  Rond-Point  of  Courbevoie. 
Some  difficult  passages  on  road.  Return  easier  by  riverside,  right 
bank.  Beautiful  hazy  distances.” 

“ Found  out  boat-house  of  the  Bilancourt  boat-club.  Spacious 
and  rather  nice.  Keeper  boat-builder.  Came  back  by  riverside, 
Auteuil  and  Bois.  Charming  harmony  of  grays  in  the  sky  — 
silvery,  bluish,  rose-tinted,  and  lavender.” 

“In  afternoon  rode  to  St.  Cloud  with  a view  to  comparison  with 
Turner.  In  coming  back  met  a steam-carriage  on  the  road,  man- 
aged, I believe,  by  Caran  d’Ache,”  etc.,  etc. 

When  he  had  regained  the  elasticity  of  his  mind,  his 
thoughts  were  turned  again  to  his  important  work. 

Note  in  the  diary  on  March  3 : u Tried  to  recover  command 
of  ‘Man  in  Art,’  putting  the  MS.  in  order.  Read  the 
chapters  over  again  to  recover  materials  and  spirit  of  work.” 
From  that  date  “ Man  in  Art  ” was  steadily  resumed  till  its 
completion.  There  was  a good  deal  of  trouble  and  disap- 
pointment with  the  illustrations,  some  of  which  were  found 
unworthy  of  insertion;  but  having  been  ordered,  they  would 
have  to  be  paid  for.  The  author  was  ready  to  bear  the  cost 
rather  than  see  them  inserted,  but  Messrs.  Macmillan  very 
kindly  and  generously  refused  to  allow  this,  and  proposed 
that  he  should  send  a bill  for  any  money  that  he  should  find 
it  necessary  to  expend  on  unsatisfactory  illustrations. 

My  husband  was  now  in  far  better  spirits,  and,  apparently, 
in  very  good  health.  A friend,  Mr.  Oliver,  who  had  named 
his  son  Hamerton  out  of  admiration  for  the  author,  wrote  in 
answer  to  one  of  his  letters : “ I was  pleased  to  hear  that  you 
find  the  later  period  of  life  not  unattended  with  deep  satisfac- 
tion and  pleasure.” 

Among  those  pleasures  were  the  friendly  or  interesting 
visits  that  the  remoteness  of  Autun  from  great  centres  would 

35 


546 


MEMOIR. 


have  effectually  prevented.  In  the  spring  we  saw  Mrs.  Mac- 
millan and  her  son;  in  the  autumn  we  had  the  pleasure  of 
becoming  personally  acquainted  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  AAam 
Black,  who  were  passing  through  Paris,  and  with  whom 
we  spent  an  afternoon  visiting  the  gardens  and  ruins  of  St. 
Cloud. 

Roberts  Brothers,  to  whom  many  applications  for  letters  of 
introduction  were  addressed,  and  who  managed  to  give  only 
a few,  sent  some  of  their  friends  to  Mr.  Hamerton  now  and 
then.  They  said  in  one  of  their  letters:  “ Since  you  will  not 
come  to  America  and  see  for  yourself,  we  want  to  show  you 
that  our  aborigines  are  as  good  specimens  of  the  genus  homo 
as  they  make  anywhere.” 

In  the  Parc  des  Princes  lives  a great  artist,  Urrabieta 
Yierge,  whose  house  and  studio  were  only  a few  minutes 
distant  from  Clematis.  Mr.  Hamerton’s  admiration  of  this 
artist’s  talent  was  great,  and  his  liking  for  him  as  a man 
became  great  also.  He  often  expressed  the  opinion  that,  in 
his  best  pen-drawings,  Urrabieta  Yierge  was  — and  would 
remain  — without  a rival.  He  used  to  spend  hours  over  the 
original  illustrations  to  Pablo  de  Segovie,  and  other  drawings 
in  the  possession  of  the  artist.  Hardly  ever  did  a day  pass 
without  seeing  my  husband  in  M.  Vierge’s  studio  once  at 
least.  He  had  opportunities  of  rendering  him  a service  some- 
times, as  the  artist  had  dealings  with  English  and  American 
publishers,  but  was  ignorant  of  their  language,  and  in  token 
of  gratitude  M.  Vierge  painted  his  new  friend’s  portrait,  and 
also  that  of  his  mother-in-law,  Madame  Gindriez. 

The  idea  of  a book  on  the  study  of  words,  to  be  written 
in  collaboration  with  M.  Raillard,  had  not  been  abandoned 
by  my  husband,  who  submitted  the  title  for  Mr.  Seeley’s 
approval.  It  was  to  be:  “ Words  on  their  Travels,  and  some 
Stay-at-home  Words.”  It  was  pronounced  lively  and  interest- 
ing. His  own  share  had  been  delayed;  but  his  son-in-law 
was  working  at  it,  and  they  carefully  planned  together  the 
composition  and  form  of  the  book,  the  separate  parts  of  which 
were  to  be  linked  together  by  essays  from  my  husband’s  pen. 

Much  time  was  devoted  to  the  exhibitions  in  1892.  The 


MEMOIR. 


547 


Salons,  of  course,  had  many  visits,  but  they  did  not  give  so 
much  pleasure  to  Gilbert  as  “ Les  Cent  Chefs-d’oeuvre,”  or 
the  Pelouse  Exhibition;  he  was  also  greatly  interested  by 
Baffet’s  works. 

Our  children  spent  with  us  a month  of  the  long  vacation, 
as  they  used  to  do  at  Pre-Charmoy,  and  our  excursions  to  the 
most  picturesque  places  in  the  neighborhood  of  Paris  became 
more  frequent.  We  had  formed  a project  for  going  to  Pierre- 
fonds  and  Compiegne;  but  my  husband,  being  now  most 
anxious  to  finish  “ Man  in  Art  ” before  Christmas,  regretfully 
put  off  the  excursions  to  the  ensuing  year.  Now  that  he  had 
regained  the  buoyancy  of  his  spirits,  he  was  fully  alive  to  the 
peculiar  charms  of  the  country  about  Paris,  and  even  intended 
to  write  a series  of  small  books  on  the  most  noteworthy  and 
remarkable  places  — something  in  the  way  of  exhaustive 
guides.  He  thought  of  beginning  with  those  that  he  knew 
thoroughly  well  already,  and  to  acquaint  himself  gradually 
with  the  others. 

In  September  our  son-in-law,  with  his  wife,  went  to  stay 
with  his  parents  for  the  remainder  of  the  vacation ; but  Mary 
left  them  a few  days  before  her  husband  to  see  her  relatives 
at  Chalon,  and  in  the  way  of  consolation,  her  father  sent  the 
following  to  Baoul : — 


“BEATUS  ILLE. 


“ Blest  is  the  man  whose  wife  is  gone  away  ! 

From  cares  exempt,  he  dwells  in  perfect  peace. 

His  heart  is  light  as  boy’s  on  holiday. 

He  walks  abroad  and  joys  in  his  release. 

The  cat  is  gone,  the  frisky  mouse  doth  play. 

The  fox  remote,  walk  forth  the  wandering  geese. 

So  he,  delivered,  thinks  his  troubles  past, 

O halcyon  days ! — if  they  could  only  last. 

“ P.  G.  H.  to  R.  R. 


“Sept.  11,  1892.” 


Ever  since  he  had  heard  of  Lord  Tennyson’s  illness,  my 
husband  had  been  greatly  concerned,  and  never  missed  going 
every  evening  to  the  Auteuil  railway  station  for  the  latest 
news.  After  the  death  of  the  poet  he  wrote  to  Mr.  Seeley : — 


548 


MEMOIR. 


“ One  must  die  some  time ; but  it  is  still  rather  saddening  to 
know  that  Tennyson  is  no  longer  a living  poet.  I have  always  en- 
joyed his  verse  very  much ; the  art  is  so  perfect,  so  superior  to  that 
of  Browning  or  Wordsworth,  even  to  that  of  Byron.  I know  of  no 
poet  to  equal  Tennyson  in  finish  except  Shelley,  Keats,  and  Horace, 
and  those  three  only  in  gems.” 

In  a letter  to  Miss  Betham-Edwards  he  had  said  once: 
“ Have  you  observed  how  very  careful  Tennyson  has  always 
been  never  to  publish  prose  1 That  was  capital  policy  in  his 
case ; he  seems  so  much  more  the  poet  to  the  world  outside.” 

Mr.  Seeley  was  anxious  to  confer  with  the  editor  of  the 
“ Portfolio  ” about  plans  for  the  following  year;  but  he  had 
considerately  refrained  from  mentioning  it,  so  long  as  the 
large  book  was  not  announced  for  publication.  In  the  begin- 
ning of  October,  however,  he  wrote:  “ I see  that  Macmillans 
announce  your  big  book;  so  I suppose  that  labor  is  off  your 
hands.”  Then  he  went  on  to  propose  that  the  editor  should 
write  a series  of  articles  on  the  “ Humorous  Art  of  the  Present 
Day,”  and  my  husband  took  time  to  think  about  the  subject. 

The  last  sheets  of  “ Man  in  Art  ” were  sent  off  on  October 
20,  and  after  acknowledging  their  receipt,  Mr.  F.  Macmillan 
said : — 

“ With  regard  to  the  drawings  on  glass,  I write  to  say  that  we 
are  perfectly  willing  that,  as  you  suggest,  you  should  make  a pres- 
ent of  them  to  the  Art  School  of  Burnley,  in  Lancashire. 

“ The  same  applies  to  the  original  wood-block  engraved  by 
Pierre  Gusman.” 

Our  November  journey  to  London  was  unattended  with 
troubles  to  my  husband’s  health,  and  it  was  with  unalloyed 
pleasure  that  we  met  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Seeley  again.  Our  stay 
was  to  be  a short  one,  for  it  had  been  decided  that,  in  the 
future , we  would  come  over  at  least  once  every  year,  and  more  1 
probably  twice. 

Here  is  the  first  letter  after  our  arrival : — 

“London.  November  26,1892. 

“ My  dear  Mary,  — I have  some  good  news  to  tell  you.  My 
new  book  is  not  out  yet,  but  soon  will  be.  It  is  in  two  editions, 


MEMOIR. 


549 


one  large  paper,  and  dear,  the  other  smaller  paper  and  much  lower 
in  price.  The  first  is  exhausted  before  publication,  and  the  second 
without  being  exhausted  yet,  is  still  going  off  well.  I dined  last 
night  with  Messrs.  Macmillan,  and  they  seemed  quite  satisfied. 

“ Mr.  Seeley  has  just  offered  to  publish  my  next  novel. 

“ I was  glad  to  get  a post-card  from  Raoul.  It  will  be  a great 
pleasure  to  me  to  work  with  him.  Perhaps,  however,  we  shall  quar- 
rel over  our  book,  and  never  speak  to  each  other  again.  But  his 
mother-in-law  wilHove  him  still,  whatever  happens. 

“ Your  very  affectionate  old  father, 

“ P.  G.  Hamerton.” 

The  work  that  my  husband  had  to  do  was  easily  gone 
through,  and  his  nervous  system  had  so  much  improved  that 
he  went  alone  about  London  without  any  forebodings,  with- 
out even  thinking  about  it,  except  to  remark  to  me  sometimes 
that  he  had  never  expected  such  an  improvement.  Had  it 
not  been  for  a very  slight  and  short  attack  of  gout,  he  would 
have  been  perfectly  well  all  the  time. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Seeley  were  then  living  in  Kensington,  and 
it  was  very  convenient  for  my  husband,  the  situation  being 
quiet  and  within  easy  reach  of  the  museums.  Although  the 
season  was  not  favorable  for  going  to  the  country,  our  friends 
knew  that  their  visitor  would  be  pleased  to  escape  from 
London  — were  it  only  for  a day  or  two,  and  they  were  so 
kind  as  to  take  us  to  their  pretty  cottage  at  Shoreham,  in 
Kent,  and  to  show  us  the  country  surrounding  it.  Gilbert 
was  out  walking  most  of  the  time,  and  there  being  hills  and 
water,  wished  he  had  time  for  sketching,  though  he  told  me 
he  would  not  like  to  live  there  permanently,  the  country  not 
being  sufficiently  open  for  his  tastes. 

The  new  arrangements  for  the  “ Portfolio  ” having  been 
decided  upon,  my  husband  wrote  to  tell  Mary  of  our  near 
arrival.  In  this  letter  he  said:  — 

“ In  spite  of  the  great  kindness  we  meet  with  here,  I don’t  feel 
any  desire  to  live  in  or  near  London,  it  is  so  gloomy  and  dirty,  be* 
sides  being  so  expensive,  at  least  according  to  present  customs  of 
living.  We  are  better  where  we  are,  near  you. 

“ I am  very  glad  that  Raoul  likes  the  idea  of  our  book.  I bej 


550 


MEMOIR. 


lieve  we  can  work  out  together  something  decidedly  new  and 
valuable.” 

In  the  course  of  a visit  to  Mrs.  A.  Black,  she  gave  us  good 
and  interesting  news  of  her  cousin,  R.  L.  Stevenson,  and 
showed  us  a photograph  taken  inside  his  house  at  Samoa, 
in  which  he  was  seen  surrounded  by  his  mother,  his  wife, 
his  wife’s  children,  and  his  native  servants.  It  was  very 
pleasant  to  see  him  looking  happy,  and  so  much  stronger  than 
he  used  to  be. 

Mr.  Macmillan,  though  very  feeble,  was  so  kind  as  to 
receive  us.  We  were  for  leaving  him  soon,  fearing  that  he 
would  be  fatigued;  but  he  insisted  upon  our  remaining,  and 
brightened  wonderfully  as  he  talked  with  my  husband.  He 
ordered  glasses  and  wine,  and  drank  to  our  healths  with  such 
hearty  good-will,  and  pressed  our  hands  at  parting  so  affec- 
tionately, that  we  were  quite  moved.  He  had  been  such  a 
strong  and  active  man,  and  there  was  still  such  an  expression 
of  power  and  will  in  his  countenance,  that  to  see  him  an 
invalid,  unable  to  walk  without  help,  was  inexpressibly 
pitiful.  He  had  said  — not  without  sadness  — that  he  had 
grown  resigned  to  this  trying  bodily  weakness,  but  at  the 
same  time  that  he  had  a great  dread  of  the  weakness  reach- 
ing the  seat  of  thought  some  day.  It  was  the  last  time  we 
saw  him,  though  he  lived  some  years  longer,  and  we  liked 
ever  after  to  recall  his  last  kind  greeting,  as  warm  as  those  of 
former  days. 

M.  Raillard  and  his  wife  received  us  joyfully  on  our  arrival 
in  Paris;  we  were  all  greatly  cheered  by  the  fact  that  my 
husband  could  now  travel  like  everybody  else,  and  this  feel- 
ing of  security  gave  a great  stimulus  to  his  energies.  We 
were  often  planning  journeys  to  places  of  interest  that  it 
might  be  useful  for  him  to  visit,  either  for  his  artistic  studies 
or  for  literary  work.  The  Countess  Martinengo  Cesaresco, 
with  whom  he  had  long  been  in  correspondence,  had  invited 
us  to  go  to  see  her  on  the  Lake  of  Garda,  and  this  was  a great 
temptation  to  which  he  hoped  to  yield  some  day. 

Meanwhile,  we  planned  for  the  autumn  a visit  to  Lucerne, 


MEMOIR. . 


551 


in  which  our  son  and  daughter  and  her  husband  would  join, 
and  we  often  talked  about  it.  I knew  perfectly  well  that 
very  few  of  our  schemes  could  ever  be  carried  out,  but  I 
encouraged  the  discussion  of  them  — for  even  that  gave  pleas- 
ure to  Gilbert,  who  had  been  kept  sedentary  so  long.  He 
told  us  what  he  would  do , and  what  he  would  attempt  in  such 
and  such  a place ; and  his  desire  for  beautiful  natural  scenes 
was  so  intense  that  he  often  dreamt  he  was  flying  towards 
them,  and  afterwards  described  his  sensations.  The  recur- 
rence of  this  sensation  of  flying  over  space  caused  him  some 
slight  alarm,  for  he  explained  that  doctors  considered  it  as  a 
symptom  of  disturbed  equilibrium  in  the  system,  which  they 
called  levitation.  Still,  he  was  now  almost  in  perfect  health, 
indeed  he  did  not  remember  the  time  when  he  had  been  so 
well,  so  ready  for  work,  or  enjoying  it  more  — he  said  he  was 
almost  afraid,  it  seemed  so  strange. 

In  a letter  from  Roberts  Brothers,  dated  March  10,  1893, 
I read:  “ We  are  indeed  pleased  to  hear  that  ‘ The  Quest  of 
Happiness  ’ is  likely  to  be  ready  for  this  autumn,  and  the 
title  is  so  promising  that  we  should  not  wonder  if  it  made 
your  ‘ cheques  ’ larger.” 

This  hook,  however,  w’as  laid  aside  for  more  pressing  work. 
The  Meissonier  Exhibition  was  opened,  and  my  husband, 
who  delighted  in  the  talent  of  the  artist,  had  already  gone 
there  several  times  when  he  received  a letter  from  Mr.  Seeley 
asking  him  to  notice  it  for  the  “ Portfolio,”  and  he  assented. 

Then  Mr.  Burlingame,  of  the  house  of  Scribner’s  Sons  of 
New  York,  came  over  from  London  for  the  special  purpose 
of  becoming  personally  acquainted  with  Mr.  Hamerton,  and 
of  proposing  to  him  to  write  a series  of  twelve  articles  on 
modern  representative  painters  for  “ Scribner’s  Magazine.” 
The  proposal  was  flattering  in  itself,  hut  the  pleasure  it  gave 
was  singularly  enhanced  by  the  visitor’s  friendly  courtesy 
and  cultured  appreciation.  After  two  meetings  only,  Mr. 
Burlingame  had  to  leave  Paris,  and  my  husband  spoke  regret- 
fully of  the  shortness  of  a visit  he  had  so  much  enjoyed, 
and  expressed  a wish  that  an  opportunity  for  more  prolonged 
intercourse  might  present  itself  before  long. 


552 


MEMOIR. 


Judging  from  Mr.  Burlingame’s  letter,  the  pleasure  had 
been  mutual.  I quote  a passage  out  of  it:  — 

“I  use  my  earliest  opportunity  to  jot  down  a note  for  our 
better  remembrance  of  the  main  points  of  the  arrangement  for 
‘Scribner’s  Magazine,’  by  assenting  to  which  you  gave  me  such 
pleasure  in  Paris. 

“I  sail  on  Saturday,  and  assure  you  I shall  carry  home  no 
pleasanter  recollection  than  that  of  the  two  days  which  you  made 
very  enjoyable  for  me  at  Paris  and  Boulogne.” 

The  scheme  did  not  require  much  literary  labor,  but  it 
involved  careful  researches  for  the  choice  of  subjects,  delicate 
negotiations  with  the  owners  of  the  pictures  chosen,  to  obtain 
the  right  of  reproduction,  and  moreover  a superintendence  of 
these  reproductions  as  to  quality. 

After  giving  due  consideration  to  the  subject  of  “ Humor 
in  Painting”  for  the  “ Portfolio,”  the  editor  did  not  feel 
inclined  to  undertake  it.  But  in  his  frequent  walks  about 
Paris  his  attention  had  been  forcibly  attracted  by  the  inven- 
tion and  fancy  shown  in  the  designs  of  modern  houses,  and 
that  was  a study  quite  congenial  to  his  tastes,  and  a subject 
on  which  he  was  thoroughly  competent  to  write.  It  was  pro- 
posed to  Mr.  Seeley,  who  accepted  it,  and  from  that  moment 
we  haunted  the  quarters  in  which  new  buildings  were  rising, 
as  if  by  magic,  in  the  purity  of  the  white  stone  used  in  Paris, 
and  in  the  richness  or  delicacy  of  their  carvings  and  -mosaics. 

Besides  these  various  preparations  for  future  work,  Mr. 
Hamerton  had  been  much  occupied  by  annotating  a collection 
of  different  things  intended  as  a present  to  the  Mechanics’ 
Institution  of  Burnley.  Shortly  after  sending  it  off,  he 
received  the  warm  thanks  of  the  Council  through  its  secretary. 

The  search  after  suitable  subjects  for  “ Scribner’s  Maga- 
zine ” had  only  yielded  an  insufficient  number,  and  my  hus- 
band decided  to  go  to  London  in  July  to  complete  his  list. 
He  felt  so  well  that  the  idea  of  undertaking  the  journey  alone 
did  not  make  him  apprehensive  in  the  least.  Not  so  with  me, 
and  my  anxiety  was  only  calmed  after  receiving  the  assurance 
that  he  had  felt  perfectly  comfortable  the  whole  way. 


MEMOIR. 


553 


His  daughter  wrote  to  him : — 

“ Mon  cher  Papa,  — Nous  avons  bien  heureux  d’apprendre 
que  tu  as  ‘si  grand  gar<jon’  comme  dit  Bonne-maman.  Ta 
tdmdritd  nous  a tous  dtonnds  et  nous  a fait  plaisir  en  meme  temps. 
Ce  changement  ne  pourra  que  te  faire  du  bien  puisque  tu  l’as 
supports  d’une  fa9on  aussi  parfaite.” 

Here  is  a part  of  the  answer : — 

“Arundel  Hotel,  Victoria  Embankment,  London, 

“ July  22,  1893. 

“ I am  extremely  pleased  with  my  hotel,  which  is  just  what  I 
wanted,  both  as  to  convenience  of  situation,  beauty,  and  charges. 
From  the  window  where  I am  writing  I can  see  the  river  and  a 
garden  with  trees,  and  some  fine  architecture  on  the  Embankment 
(Quai),  yet  1 am  close  to  the  busiest  part  of  London. 

“I  was  in  the  Academy  yesterday,  and  enjoyed  it  very  much. 
I feel  perfectly  well,  and  not  in  the  least  fatigued  by  my  journey, 
from  which  I experienced  no  inconvenience  whatever,  except  an 
increased  appetite,  which  has  remained  with  me  ever  since.” 

Shortly  after  my  husband’s  return  from  London,  Mr. 
Jaccaci,  an  American  artist  and  author,  and  a devoted  friend 
of  M.  Vierge,  came  to  see' us,  and  Gilbert’s  interest  in  him 
was  quickly  awakened.  I was  told  that  he  had  travelled 
much,  and,  though  still  young,  could  speak  eight  languages. 
There  was  a first  bond  between  them  in  their  admiration  of  M. 
Vierge ’s  talent,  and  in  their  sympathy  for  his  individuality. 
They  met  several  times  at  his  studio.  Unfortunately  Mr. 
Jaccaci’s  stay  was  of  short  duration,  and  he  was  extremely 
busy,  so  much  so  indeed  that  he  could  not  accept  an  invita- 
tion, but  promised  to  do  so  next  time  he  came  to  Paris.  His 
departure  did  not  put  an  end  to  the  friendly  intercourse, 
which  was  carried  on  by  correspondence. 

At  the  first  appearance  of  the  “ Portfolio  ” it  had  taken  an 
entirely  new  line  among  English  periodicals,  but  now  there 
were  two  other  art  magazines  similar  in  character  and  style  of 
illustration,  and  both  its  editor  and  publisher  were  desirous 
of  an  alteration  which  would  once  more  distinguish  it  from 
similar  periodicals. 


554 


MEMOIR. 


They  considered  how  it  might  he  remodelled,  so  as  to  give 
it  a new  character  of  its  own,  and  at  last,  taking  into  con- 
sideration the  prejudice  which  had  set  in  against  big  hooks, 
they  decided  to  reduce  its  size  and  to  increase  the  letterpress 
considerably.  Each  number  was  to  he  devoted  to  one  sub- 
ject, and  written  by  the  same  author,  so  as  to  be  complete  in 
itself.  The  new  second  title,  “ Monographs  on  Artistic  Sub- 
jects,” was  liked  by  many  critics,  and  one  of  them  said: 
“ Monographs ! I wonder  whose  idea  that  was.  What  an 
admirable  plan!  Strange  that  no  one  ever  thought  of  it 
before!  ” 

The  editor  undertook  to  write  the  first  number,  on  “ The 
Etchings  of  Rembrandt ; ” but  in  spite  of  his  enthusiasm  for 
the  subject,  and  his  thorough  knowledge  of  it,  he  felt  pain- 
fully hurried,  for  the  decision  had  been  taken  somewhat  late 
in  the  year.  He  told  me  he  would  have  liked  to  devote  six 
months  to  its  preparation.  Still,  the  new  plan  gave  him 
much  pleasant  anticipation  of  carefully  prepared  work,  as  he 
disliked  devoting  his  time  to  subjects  of  minor  importance. 
A number  of  the  “ Portfolio  ” now  allowed  of  a worthy  sub- 
ject being  worthily  treated,  and  that  was  in  accordance  with 
my  husband’s  preferred  method  of  work. 

With  the  ordinary  autumnal  remittance  Roberts  Brothers 
wrote : — 

“ We  have  just  bought  a copy  of  ‘ The  Isles  of  Loch  Awe,  and 
Other  Poems,’  by  P.  G.  Hamerton,  Esq.  1859.  Second  thousand. 

“We  have  had  a good  many  years  a copy  of  the  first  edition, 
1855,  which  we  once  loaned  to  Mr.  Longfellow,  who  made  from  it 
selections  for  his  collection  of  ‘Poems  of  Places,’  and  in  it  we 
have  placed  his  letter  of  thanks  for  the  loan.” 


Some  time  in  the  spring  my  husband  had  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  M.  Darmesteter,  and  had  hoped  that  it  might  grow 
into  closer  intimacy,  M.  Darmesteter  and  his  wife  having 
promised  to  call;  but  we  learned  that  they  had  been  mis- 
taken as  to  the  situation  of  our  house,  and  in  November  Mr. 
Hamerton  received  this  reply  to  one  of  his  letters : — 


MEMOIR. 


555 


“ Novembre  18. 

“ Cher  Monsieur,  — Excusez  mon  retard  k vous  remercier  de 
votre  aimable  lettre  du  16  courant.  Nous  rentrons  a peine  et  vous 
savez  ce  que  c’est  qu’une  rentrde  en  ville. 

“ Hafiz  malheureusement  n’est  pas  traduit  que  je  sache  en  fran- 
cais.  II  en  existe  une  traduction  allemande  en  3 vol.  . . . 

“ Nous  avons  bien  regrettd  de  ne  pouvoir,  avant  de  quitter  Paris, 
faire  un  tour  au  Parc-des-Princes  et  presenter  nos  hommages  k 
Madame  Hamerton.  Ce  sera  pour  Pann^e  qui  vient  j’espfere. 

“ Croyez  moi,  cher  Monsieur, 

“ Yotre  bien  ddvoud, 

“J.  Darmesteter.” 

Death,  alas!  prevented  another  meeting,  for  M.  Darmes- 
teter, who  was  already  in  weak  health,  did  not  live  very 
long  after. 

Mr.  Seeley  thought  the  monograph  on  Rembrandt  “ lively, 
charmingly  written,  and  betraying  no  sign  of  hurry.”  This 
opinion  was  shared  by  the  public,  for  the  sale  of  the  “ Port- 
folio ” increased  largely.  Indeed,  the  new  scheme  was  gener- 
ally applauded,  and  many  letters  were  sent  both  to  the  editor 
and  to  the  publisher  in  token  of  appreciation.  Sir  F.  Burton, 
to  whom  my  husband  had  applied  for  a monograph  on  Velas- 
quez, said  in  his  reply:  “I  have  seen  the  ‘Portfolio  * in  its 
new  form,  and  I think  the  alterations  you  have  made  in  the 
plan  and  scope  of  the  work  most  happily  inspired.” 

Sir  George  Reid  also  wrote : — 

“ I have  seen  the  ‘ Portfolio  ’ in  its  new  form,  and  I think  the 
change  a wise  one  in  many  ways.  It  recalls  the  ‘ Revue  des  deux 
Mondes.’  It  will  be  a far  handier  shape  for  the  book-shelves ; but 
I feel  a — well  perhaps  sentimental  regret  for  the  old  ‘ Portfolio.  * 
It  seems  like  the  disappearance  of  on  old  familiar  friend  — although 
we  know  he  is  still  alive  and  well. 

“ I wish  it  all  prosperity  in  its  new  form,  and  its  editor  many 
years  of  happy  and  useful  labor  in  the  service  of  art.” 

Mrs.  Henry  Ady  was  to  write  on  Bastien  Lepage  for  the 
“Portfolio,”  but  she  had  not  all  the  documents  she  wanted, 
and  my  husband  undertook  to  procure  them.  A talented 


556 


MEMOIR. 


French  marine -painter,  M.  Jobert,  with  whom  Mr.  Hamerton 
was  acquainted,  introduced  him  to  M.  Emile  Bastien  Lepage, 
brother  of  the  artist.  Note  in  the  diary  about  it:  — 

“January  11,  1894.  Was  much  pleased  with  my  visit.  Saw 
many  things  by  the  painter  — many  not  published ; portraits  of 
father  and  mother,  of  grandfather,  of  brother  Emile,  etc.,  and 
sketches  for  girl’s  funeral  which  he  saw ; also  etchings  and  a bust 
of  his  father.  After  that  he  showed  us  a fine  structure  in  carved 
wood  from  the  church  of  St.  Mark  at  Venice.” 

My  brother,  his  wife,  and  their  two  little  girls  arrived 
in  Paris  to  be  present  at  the  wedding  of  our  niece,  Jeanne 
Pelletier.  Stephen  also  came,  and  on  the  appointed  day  we 
all  went  to  the  Lycee  Henri  IV.,  where  the  ceremony  took 
place,  on  January  29.  We  were  much  interested,  on  account 
of  the  great  affection  we  bore  to  the  bride. 

My  husband  put  this  note  in  the  diary:  “Wedding  passed 
off  very  well.  Beautiful  ceremony  in  chapel.  I had  a talk 
with  L’Abbe  Loyson  (brother  of  Hyacinthe  Loyson).  Great 
numbers  of  people  to  congratulate.” 

Gilbert  had  long  talks  on  architecture  with  his  brother-in- 
law,  to  whom  he  showed  several  of  the  new  buildings  he  had 
been  studying  for  his  “Parisian  Houses,”  particularly  in  the 
Avenue  du  Bois  de  Boulogne,  Avenue  Bugeaud,  and  Bue  de 
Longchamp. 

When  M.  Gindriez  left,  Gilbert  tried  to  resume  the  “ Quest 
of  Happiness,”  but  told  me  he  had  determined  to  remodel  the 
Prologue  on  positive  and  negative  happiness,  because  he  had 
thought  out  a scheme  of  alteration.  I was  very  sorry  to  hear  of 
it,  because  the  work  was  already  so  far  advanced,  and  the  altera- 
tions would  require  so  much  trouble  and  time.  But  such  con- 
siderations had  no  weight  with  him  when  he  thought  his  work 
could  be  improved,  so  I kept  my  disappointment  to  myself. 

Some  time  in  February  my  husband  had  received  a letter 
from  Sir  G.  Beid,  from  which  I quote  the  following  passage: 
“ 1 have  little  doubt  that  before  the  month  of  March  comes 
you  will  be  P.  G.  Hamerton,  LL.D.  Your  claims  to  such 
recognition  have  long  been  beyond  all  questioning.” 


MEMOIR. 


557 


This  was  confirmed  by  the  Secretary  of  the  University  of 
Aberdeen  on  March  3,  1894,  in  these  terms:  — 

“ Dear  Sir,  — I have  the  pleasure  of  informing  you  that  the 
Senatus  of  the  University  at  its  meeting  to-day  conferred  upon  you 
the  Honorary  Degree  of  Doctor  of  Laws  (LL.  D.). 

“ I am, 

“ Yours  faithfully, 

> “ Alexander  Stewart, 

“ Secretary  of  the  Senatus.” 

Three  days  later  Lady  Reid  wrote : — 

“Dear  Dr.  Hamerton,  — We  are  delighted  to  see  in  this 
morning’s  newspaper  the  announcement  of  your  LL.D.-ship. 
Though  we  have  never  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting,  I feel  almost 
as  if  I had  known  you  for  many  years,  your  writings  having  given 
me  such  real  pleasure  ever  since  I first  made  your  acquaintance  in 
4 A Painter’s  Camp  in  the  Highlands  ’ in  1863. 

“ I hope  you  will  kindly  accept  from  me  your  Aberdeen  LL.D.- 
hood,  which  is  the  outward  visible  sign  of  your  new  academic 
rank. 

“My  husband  says  it  is  1 a chromatic  discord  of  the  1st  Order,’ 
but  over  the  arrangements  of  such  things  the  present  generation 
has  no  control,  their  form  and  colors  having  been  settled  long 
ago. 

“Sir  George  unites  with  me  in  kindest  regards,  and  in  the  hope 
that  you  may  long  live  to  enjoy  your  most  well-earned  honors. 

“ Believe  me, 

“ Yours  very  truly, 

“ Mia  Reid.” 

Shortly  after  Sir  George  Reid  wrote:  “You  have  done  so 
much  for  the  literature  of  art  that  the  only  wonder  is  your 
services  have  not  been  acknowledged  by  one  or  other  of  our 
Universities  long  ago.  I am  very  glad  that  the  honor  has 
come  to  you  from  the  University  of  Aberdeen.” 

Although  my  husband  cared  little  for  honors,  this  recogni- 
tion— freely  and  spontaneously  conferred  by  the  University 
of  Aberdeen , without  any  solicitation  on  his  part  — gave  him 
real  pleasure.  He  had  never  expected  anything  in  this  way 


558 


MEMOIR. 


from  Oxford  or  Cambridge,  because  he  had  never  been  a 
student  of  either,  and  he  fancied  that  this  would  always 
be  against  him.  It  reminds  me  of  what  he  wrote  to  Mr. 
Seeley  soon  after  our  arrival  in  Paris,  when  he  suffered  from 
dulness : — 

“ I never  was  at  Oxford.  I always  had  a boyish  dread  of  being 
sent  there,  and  put  into  one  of  the  colleges.  I think  I was  marked 
for  Balliol.  After  my  escape  I felt  towards  the  place  much  as  a 
sound  Protestant  feels  towards  the  Vatican.  Here  is  a reflection 
that  has  sometimes  occurred  to  me  since  my  imprisonment  here 
began  : ‘ Dear  me  ! why,  if  I can  endure  Paris,  I might  possibly 
have  endured  Oxford.’  ” 

After  congratulating  the  editor  of  the  “ Portfolio  ” on  his 
new  title,  Mr.  Seeley  said:  “My  brother  at  Cambridge  has 
been  made  a Knight  Commander  of  St.  Michael  and  St. 
George.  What  an  extraordinary  title  for  a Professor!  And 
you  are  now  a Doctor  of  Laws.  Will  you  kindly  allow  us 
to  consult  you  in  any  legal  difficulty  ? ” 

The  new  Doctor  1 answered : — 

“ I congratulate  you  on  having  a brother  who  is  a Knight 
Commander  of  St.  Michael  and  St.  George  too.  They  were  both 
very  valiant  saints,  dangerous  to  dragons  and  demons.  The 
image  that  rose  to  my  mind’s  eye  when  I read  your  letter  was 
that  of  your  brother  in  shining  golden  armor  riding  full  tilt  with 
spear  in  rest  against  a terrible  dragon.  I wish  Lord  Shaftesbury 
had  lived  to  hear  of  it,  for  one  reason,  and  your  father  for 
another. 

“ Thank  you  for  your  congratulations  about  my  LL.D.-ship. 
In  answer  to  your  question,  I beg  to  say  that  whilst  the  degree  is  but 
a just  tribute  to  my  legal  knowledge,  it  does  not  confer  the  right 
to  practise,  so  that  you  would  do  better  to  consult  some  professional 
man,  such  as  a barrister  or  an  attorney,  even  though  his  legal  at- 
tainments might  be  far  inferior  to  mine.” 

In  the  same  year  Mr.  Hamerton  was  invited  by  the  Society 
of  Illustrators  to  accept  a Vice-Presidency  along  with  Sir 

1 Mr.  Hamerton  and  Professor  Seeley  were  born  on  the  same  day,  and 
there  was  an  interval  of  only  a few  weeks  between  their  deaths. 


MEMOIR. 


559 


J.  E.  Millais,  Sir  F.  Seymour  Haden,  and  Mr.  Holman 
Hunt. 

Messrs.  Scribner  having  planned  a work  on  American 
wood-cuts,  wrote  to  ascertain  if  my  husband  would  undertake 
it.  Mr.  Burlingame’s  letter  explains  the  scheme. 

“ Dear  Mr.  Hamerton,  — In  the  course  of  the  publication  of 
the  Magazine,  we  have  printed  from  time  to  time  what  we  believe 
to  be  some  of  the  best  American  wood-engravings.  We  are  going 
to  make  a selection  of  about  forty  of  them,  thoroughly  represen- 
tative of  the  best  men  and  subjects  (though  we  have  not  tried,  of 
course,  to  have  the  representation  complete ),  and  issue  it  as  soon  as 
we  can  in  the  form  of  India  proofs,  in  a portfolio  in  a very  limited 
edition — probably  of  less  than  100  copies,  made  with  the  utmost 
care  and  all  possible  accessories  to  render  the  collection  a standard 
one.  Meaning  to  make  it  represent  the  highest  poiut  of  wood-en- 
graving (which  is  now  fast  yielding  to  the  mechanical  processes,  so 
that  the  moment  is  perhaps  the  best  we  shall  have),  we  want  to 
accompany  the  publication  with  a short  essay  on  the  subject,  to  go 
with  the  portfolio  in  a little  book,  and  afterwards  to  be  bound  up 
with  the  popular  edition  should  we  make  one.” 

It  was  just  one  of  those  schemes  that  my  husband  could  set 
his  heart  upon  — requiring  much  knowledge  and  condensed 
writing.  So  he  gladly  accepted  the  task,  and  applied  himself 
to  it  as  soon  as  the  engravings  reached  him. 

On  receiving  the  manuscript  Mr.  Burlingame  wrote:  “ The 
paper  on  the  engravers  so  thoroughly  fulfilled  our  expecta- 
tions, that  we  were  more  than  ever  glad  that  we  asked  your 
help  in  this  (to  us)  important  matter.” 

In  the  spring,  before  the  opening  of  the  Salons,  there  are 
always  a good  many  minor  exhibitions,  and  these  we  went  to 
see,  in  order  to  judge  of  the  prevailing  artistic  tendencies.  I 
find  this  note  in  the  diary : — 

“ March  17,  1894.  Went  with  wife  in  the  afternoon  to  see  some 
pictures  by  the  ‘ Eclectics  ’ at  Petit’s.  Most  of  them  horribly  bad, 
especially  the  Impressionists,  but  several  by  Boudot  were  excellent. 
These  were  landscapes,  all  in  perfectly  true  tone  and  good  color, 
with  a great  deal  of  sound,  modest  drawing.  I wish  I could  paint 
like  him.  His  work  is  evidently  founded  on  painted  studies  from 


560 


MEMOIR. 


nature ; indeed,  much  of  it  must  have  been  painted  directly  from 
nature. 

“ Made  a new  plan  for  work,  doing  two  tasks  on  alternate  days  : 
one  the  current  book,  the  other  some  minor  task  — an  article,  for 
example.  In  this  way  both  would  get  on,  and  the  interval  would 
not  be  long  enough  to  lose  hold  of  either.” 

He  wrote  about  it  to  Mr.  Seeley,  and  explained:  — 

“ I don’t  know  how  it  will  answer  yet,  but  have  hopes.  My 
great  difficulty  has  always  been  (and  it  only  increases  with  age)  a 
certain  want  of  readiness  and  flexibility  in  turning  from  one  thing 
to  another.  When  I have  a book  in  hand  (and  I always  have  one), 
it  is  most  disagreeable  to  me  to  turn  from  it  and  write  an  article ; 
and  when  the  article  is  finished  I lose  always  at  least  a day,  and  often 
several  days,  before  I get  well  into  swing  with  the  book  again. 
My  natural  tendency  is  to  take  up  one  task,  and  peg  away  at  it  till 
it  is  done.” 

At  Roberts  Brothers’  request,  Mr.  Hamerton  had  agreed  to 
write  a translation  of  Renan’s  notice  of  his  sister  Henriette. 
However,  he  had  to  give  it  up,  not  being  able  to  get  answers 
to  his  letters  from  M.  Ary  Renan. 

As  he  greatly  appreciated  the  spirit  and  usefulness  of  the 
Institution  of  the  Franco-English  Guild,  founded  by  Miss 
Williams,  he  wrote  for  its  “ Review  ” an  article  on  “ Lan- 
guages and  Peace,”  and  intended  to  write  others.  There  are 
some  notes  in  the  diary  at  this  time  which  prove  that  he 
could  find  some  effects  to  enjoy  in  Paris:  — 

“March  13th.  Went  with  Stephen  to  see  Mr.  Barker.  We 
went  on  a walk  to  the  terrace  at  Meudon,  where  we  joined  wife 
and  daughter  and  Raoul.  Thence  to  a pond  in  the  wood.  Came 
back  in  the  evening.  Beautiful  effects  on  the  river.” 

“ April  1st.  Went  to  the  Mont  Vaffirien,  and  greatly  enjoyed 
the  views  about  it  over  Paris  on  one  side,  and  the  country  on  the 
other.” 

The  best  proof  that  my  husband’s  nervous  system  was  now 
strong  and  healthy,  is  that  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he 
proposed  that  we  should  go  together  to  the  private  view  of  the 
Champ  de  Mars  to  meet  the  President  of  the  Republic.  We 


MEMOIR. 


561 


had  a card  of  invitation,  and  I was  so  happy  to  see  him  well, 
and  to  mark  the  respectful  greetings  which  met  him  from  all 
quarters,  that  I enjoyed  the  day  thoroughly.  He  was  per- 
fectly calm  the  whole  time,  in  contrast  with  the  excitement 
surging  around  him,  and  at  night  he  wrote  in  the  diary : — 

“ We  went,  wife  and  I,  to  the  Champ  de  Mars,  and  saw  the  Pres- 
ident of  the  Republic  arrive,  and  all  the  artistic  notabilities  who 
received  him.  After  the  lunch,  saw  the  exhibition  well,  and  se- 
lected two  pictures  for  Scribner.  Was  much  impressed  byTissot’s 
‘ Life  of  Christ.’ 

“We  were  much  amused  by  the  extravagance  of  the  toilettes* 
particularly  the  feminine.” 

In  April  he  called  upon  MM.  Louis  Deschamps  and  Checa 
for  notes  of  a biographical  kind.  There  was  an  instantaneous 
sympathy  between  him  and  M.  Checa,  who  was  very  cordial 
and  communicative,  and  who  soon  returned  his  visit.  After 
the  publication  of  the  article  concerning  him,  M.  Checa 
wrote:  “ Je  vous  remercie  tres  vivement  de  cet  article,  sure- 
ment  le  plus  exact  que  l’on  ait  fait  sur  moi.” 

In  the  studio  of  M.  Checa  my  husband  had  met  an 
American  artist,  Mr.  R.  J.  Wickenden,  who  lived  at  Auvers, 
and  who,  being  well  acquainted  with  his  works,  wished  to 
paint  a portrait  of  the  author.  During  the  sittings  a friend- 
ship was  formed  between  model  and  painter.  The  portrait 
was  exhibited  in  America  at  Mr.  Keppel’s. 

Mr.  Hamerton  having  been  invited  to  preside  at  a meeting 
and  dinner  of  the  Society  of  Illustrators,  and  to  deliver  a 
lecture  on  the  history  of  their  art,  fixed  an  earlier  date  than 
he  had  intended  for  his  proposed  visit  to  London,  to  comply 
with  their  wishes. 

He  started  alone  on  May  4,  going  by  way  of  Dieppe,  and 
wrote  in  the  diary : “ Capital  passage.  Enjoyed  sea  and  color 
very  much  indeed.” 

On  the  6th  he  wrote  to  M.  Raillard  that  he  was  well 
enough,  but  that  on  arriving  at  Charing  Cross  the  trunk  con- 
taining his  clothes  was  missing.  He  ended  by  saying : “ And 
I have  to  preside  over  a dinner  to-morrow!  At  all  events  I 

36 


562 


MEMOIR. 


cannot  do  it  in  a flannel  shirt!  ...  I am  in  a pretty 
mess!  ” 

He  had  almost  decided  to  buy  a ready-made  suit  in  this 
emergency,  when  he  recovered  the  lost  trunk.  After  the 
dinner  he  wrote  me  a long  account  of  it  in  French.  The 
reception  given  him  by  the  Illustrators  had  been  most  cordial. 
His  speech  had  been  delivered  without  nervousness  or  hesita- 
tion, and  with  the  curious  illusion  that  he  was  listening  to 
somebody  else. 

There  had  been  an  animated  debate  on  the  grievances  of  the 
Illustrators,  who  complained  of  the  small  space  allotted  to 
the  exhibition  of  their  works  in  the  Academy.  They  seemed 
disposed  to  sign  a protest,  when  he  had  offered  to  go  and  see 
Sir  Frederick  Leighton,  and  to  talk  the  subject  over  with 
him,  as  president  of  the  meeting.  He  ended  his  letter  with 
a promise  to  have  his  photograph  taken  on  the  morrow  by 
Messrs.  Elliott  and  Fry. 

I was  very  glad  of  this  decision  about  his  portrait,  for  I 
had  not  a good  likeness  of  him,  except  the  fine  photograph 
taken  by  Mr.  Palmer;  and  of  course  since  that  time  his 
features  had  altered.  They  retained  their  expression  of  intel- 
lectuality and  dignity,  softened,  as  it  were,  by  the  discipline 
and  experience  of  years.  Hitherto  he  had  always  resisted 
any  attempt  to  publish  his  portrait  among  a series  of  celebri- 
ties; but  this  time  he  yielded  to  my  entreaties;  and  he  was 
afterwards  satisfied  to  have  done  so,  for  the  three  photographs 
taken  on  the  same  day  were  all  good  likenesses.  From  the 
best  of  them  was  engraved  — later  — through  the  care  and 
sympathy  of  Messrs.  Scribner,  the  fine  and  striking  portrait 
which  appeared  in  their  Magazine  of  February,  1895. 

It  was,  I believe,  a sort  of  unconscious  presentiment  which 
prompted  my  husband  to  see  all  his  friends  during  this  last 
visit  to  England.  Knowing  that  he  had  so  much  pressing 
work  on  hand,  I had  been  surprised  by  his  decision  to  go  to 
London  so  soon  after  his  last  journey,  and  still  more  to  hear 
that  he  intended  to  go  to  Holmwood  to  make  the  acquaintance 
of  Mr.  C.  Gould,  the  son  of  his  cousin  Anne;  to  Dorking, 
to  see  Mrs.  Hamerton,  of  Hellifield  Peel,  and  her  married 


MEMOIR. 


563 


daughter;  to  Alresford,  to  stay  a couple  of  days  with  Sir 
Seymour  Haden  and  his  wife;  and  then  to  Southampton,  to 
call  upon  Mr.  E.  Leslie.  All  these  arrangements  surprised 
me  exceedingly ; hut  I came  to  the  conclusion  that  my  hus- 
band’s health  must  be  excellent,  since  he  volunteered  to 
undertake,  with  evident  pleasure,  what  he  would  have  dreaded 
to  do  some  time  ago. 

Indeed,  his  letters  expressed  nothing  but  enjoyment  from 
all  these  visits,  and  the  keen  interest  he  took  in  the  Academy 
exhibition. 

He  was  made  very  welcome  by  Sir  Freder  ck  Leighton,  to 
whom  he  explained  the  grievances  of  the  Illustrators,  and 
who  gave  him  a promise  to  do  his  best  for  them;  and  Mr. 
Hamerton  was  glad  to  think  he  might  have  been  of  use. 

A singular  occurrence  happened  shortly  after  his  return. 
Friends,  more  particularly  those  who  came  from  abroad,  were 
often  debarred  from  accepting  his  invitations  on  account  of 
the  distance  between  Paris  and  the  Parc  des  Princes,  and  the 
consequent  lateness  of  the  hour  when  they  could  reach  their 
home  or  hotel  after  dining  at  Clematis.  Gilbert,  therefore, 
had  adopted  a plan  — much  in  use  in  the  French  capital  — 
which  consists  in  inviting  friends  to  a conveniently  situated 
restaurant,  where  the  goodness  of  the  cookery  and  attendance 
may  be  relied  upon.  It  occurred  to  my  husband  to  try  the 
Terminus  Hotel  at  the  Gare  du  Havre,  from  which  many 
travellers  start  for  England;  and  he  invited  M.  Eaillard  to 
test  the  place  with  him.  They  were  both  pleased  with  it, 
and  left  at  about  ten  p.  m.  It  was  most  fortunate  that  they 
did  not  remain  much  longer,  for  at  eleven  an  explosion, 
caused  by  a dynamite  bomb,  wrecked  the  room  in  which  they 
had  dined,  and  wounded  several  people. 

A long-deferred  meeting  with  Mr.  Frederick  Harrison 
took  place  in  June,  and  the  day  was  spent  in  visiting  the 
Louvre,  Tuileries,  Notre  Dame,  and  the  Hotel  de  Ville. 

We  had  also  been  expecting  with  pleasant  anticipations  the 
visit  of  Mr.  Niles,  when  we  received  the  sad  news  of  his 
death  at  Perugia,  and  learned  that  he  had  been  in  failing 
health  for  some  years,  and  had  decided  to  come  to  Europe  for 


564 


MEMOIR. 


rest.  My  husband’s  regrets  were  very  sincere.  From  time 
to  time  we  had  news  of  R.  L.  Stevenson;  those  received  in  a 
letter  from  Mr.  R.  A.  M.  Stevenson,  in  the  course  of  the 
same  month,  were  very  pleasing. 

“ I heard  from  R.  L.  Stevenson  a few  weeks  ago.  He  said : ‘ If 
you  saw  me  here  you  would  no  longer  question  my  wisdom  in  stay- 
ing ; you  would  not  wonder  at  my  preferring  this  life  to  that  of 
Bournemouth.’  In  England  he  passed  half  his  time  in  bed,  the 
whole  winter  in  the  house,  and  he  could  never  -walk  half-a-mile. 
Now  he  is  out  by  six  in  the  morning,  sometimes  bathes,  and  occa- 
sionally spends  the  whole  day  in  the  saddle.  He  was  always  fond 
of  the  open  air,  and  though  never  strong,  was  a good  walker,  and, 
as  you  know,  able  to  do  a little  boating.  He  often  spoke  to  me  of 
his  visit  to  you  at  Autun.” 

The  assassination  of  President  Carnot,  which  occurred  in 
June,  grieved  and  horrified  my  husband  as  much  as  if  he  had 
been  a Frenchman.  He  had  the  greatest  respect  for  the  scru- 
pulous manner  in  which  M.  Carnot  discharged  all  his  duties, 
and  admired  the  simple  dignity  with  which  he  held  the  rank 
of  First  Citizen  of  a great  nation.  Being  himself  a Liberal  — 
but  a Moderate  one  — it  had  given  him  hopes  for  the  stability 
of  a Moderate -Liberal  Republic,  to  see  at  the  head  of  it  the 
personification  of  unsuspected  honesty  and  wise  patriotism. 

On  the  whole,  he  was  satisfied  with  the  choice  of  his  suc- 
cessor, and  amused  by  this  phrase  about  M.  Casimir-Perier  in 
one  of  Mr.  Seeley’s  letters:  “I  saw  a portrait  of  the  new 
French  President  lately.  He  looks  a man  not  to  be  trifled 
with.”  The  remark  has  been  curiously  justified  since. 

Having  to  go  out  so  frequently  now  in  the  afternoons  in 
order  to  see  artists  and  pictures,  my  husband  altered  his  rules 
of  work,  and  devoted  the  whole  of  the  mornings  to  literary 
composition,  and  the  heat  being  very  oppressive  this  summer, 
he  worked  better  in  the  cooler  time  of  day ; yet  I was  rather 
afraid  of  the  consequences  when  I saw  him  start  for  Paris  with 
the  thermometer  standing  at  88°  or  90°  almost  every  after- 
noon, but  he  maintained  that  it  did  him  no  harm. 

On  July  14  — the  Fete  Nationale  — Mr.  Jaccaci  having 


MEMOIR. 


565 


called  with  M.  Vierge,  Gilbert  went  back  to  dine  with  him 
in  Paris  and  to  see  the  fireworks.  They  were  both  struck  by 
the  extraordinary  quietness  of  the  great  town,  generally  so 
merry  and  noisy  at  that  date,  hut  now  subdued  by  respectful 
sympathy  for  the  death  of  its  late  President. 

Note  in  the  diary:  "Never  saw  streets  of  Paris  so  quiet 
before.  Could  cross  easily  anywhere.  In  Avenue  de  l’Opera 
could  count  people.” 

We  had  heard  from  M.  Raillard  that  the  reputation  of  his 
father-in-law  was  penetrating  into  Germany.  He  had  seen 
some  notices  and  reviews  of  his  works,  and  in  August  a pro- 
fessor at  the  Zurich  University  sent  this  flattering  letter:  — 

“Monsieur,  — Je  vais  publier  une  petite  bibliotheque  fran9ai.se 
k l’usage  des  dcoles  allemandes,  avec  des  notes  en  fra^ais.  Le 
premier  volume  contiendra  une  forte  partie  du  fameux  livre  de 
Tocqueville  sur  l’ancien  regime  et  la  revolution.  Le  second  sera, 
si  vous  le  permettez,  compose  d’extraits  de  votre  excellent  livre, 
‘ Fran9ais  et  Anglais,’  traduction  de  M.  Labouchere. 

“ Auriez-vous  la  bontd  de  me  fournir  quelques  dates  sur  votre 
vie  et  sur  vos  autres  ouvrages,  que  je  pourrais  utiliser  pour  l’intro- 
duction  ? ” 

Just  at  the  time,  when  my  husband  was  making  extensive 
plans  of  work,  justified  as  it  seemed  by  the  great  improve- 
ment in  his  health,  he  was  suddenly  attacked  by  a new 
malady,  which  he  believed  to  be  asthma.  There  were  no 
premonitory  symptoms;  he  was  as  well  as  usual  in  the  day- 
time , and  even  after  going  to  bed , where  he  always  read  before 
going  to  sleep;  but  directly  he  fell  asleep,  he  was  suddenly 
aroused  again  by  suffocation.  In  describing  his  sensations  to 
me,  he  said  it  seemed  as  if  breathing  required  — while  in  a 
waking  state  — a slight  effort,  which  he  made  unconsciously, 
and  this  being  discontinued  when  sleep  arrived,  produced 
suffocation.  I attributed  this  painful  state  to  a change  in  the 
working  of  his  nervous  system,  and  pressed  him  to  see  a 
doctor;  but  he  was  convinced  that  he  was  becoming  asthmatic, 
and  that  there  was  no  help  for  it. 

Although  he  told  me  that  if  he  had  his  choice  in  the 
matter,  he  would  rather  die  than  be  condemned  to  a life  of 


566 


MEMOIR. 


impotence,  with  perpetual  cares  and  precautions,  he  bore  his 
sufferings,  or  rather  forebodings,  with  his  accustomed  courage 
and  patience,  and  attempted  to  calm  my  apprehensions  by 
affirming  that,  though  his  nights  were  disturbed,  he  could 
still  get  sleep  out  of  bed,  in  an  arm-chair,  and  now  and  then 
in  the  day-time  when  overpowered  by  fatigue.  The  various 
means  of  relief  used  by  asthmatic  people  and  recommended  by 
different  friends  proving — without  exception  — utterly  ineffi- 
cacious for  him,  I attempted  to  console  him  by  pointing  out 
that  asthma  often  manifested  itself  at  very  long  intervals, 
and  that,  in  general,  the  worst  attacks  were  hardly  more 
painful  than  those  of  gout.  He  answered  that  he  could  bear 
the  pain  of  these  attacks,  but  what  he  dreaded  most  was 
chronic  asthma,  which,  by  lowering  his  general  health,  would 
reduce  him  to  an  invalid  state. 

However,  the  worst  symptoms  soon  subsided,  and  about 
three  weeks  after  the  first  disturbance  he  was  writing  to  Mr. 
Seeley:  “I  am  much  better,  though  my  nights  are  still  fre- 
quently interrupted.  I require  a great  deal  of  exercise,  more 
than  I can  find  time  for;  the  more  exercise  I take  the  better 
I am.”  And  yet  when,  shortly  afterwards,  a specialist  had  to 
be  called  in,  he  declared  that  his  patient  “ was  completely 
overworked  mentally  and  physically,”  and  he  ordered  him  to 
give  up  the  velocipede  altogether,  and  to  restrict  his  walks  to 
short  distances  and  a leisurely  pace. 

I have  never  been  able  to  understand  how  it  was  that  phys- 
ical exercise  being  so  hurtful  to  Gilbert,  he  should  invariably 
have  felt  benefited  by  it,  so  far  as  his  sensations  went. 

The  vacation  had  come  round  again,  and  the  impossibility 
of  realizing  the  pleasant  plans  we  had  formed  obliged  our 
children  to  alter  theirs.  Stephen  went  to  London,  and  M. 
Raillard  took  his  wife  through  Switzerland  to  Germany. 
They  had  frequently  written  on  their  way,  and  now  told  of 
their  impressions  of  Freiburg,  where  they  decided  to  remain 
three  weeks. 

I mentioned  before  that  my  husband’s  knowledge  of  places 
which  he  had  never  seen  was  surprising.  In  this  instance 
he  could  induce  Mary  and  her  husband  to  believe  that  he  had 


MEMOIR. 


567 


actually  stayed  where  they  were.  The  attempt  amused  him, 
and  he  read  me  the  following  letter  before  posting  it : — 

“ 19  aout  1894. 

“Ma  chere  et  bonne  Fille,  — Je  t’aurais  bcrit  plus  tot  pour 
te  souhaiter  ta  fete,  qui  est  aujourd’hui,  mais  je  n’espbrais  pas 
que  ma  lettre  put  te  parvenir,  comme  tu  etais  en  route.  Je  n’ai 
jamais  pu  savoir  ce  que  souhaiter  une  fete  voulait  dire,  mais  si  c’est 
quelque  bien,  — comme  la  sante,  par  exemple,  — tu  sais  quels  sont 
mes  voeux ; enfin  je  voudrais  te  savoir  aussi  heureuse  que  possible. 

“ Je  ne  trouve  pas  que  la  couleur  de  la  cathbdrale  de  Freiburg 
soit  dbsagrbable.  II  est  vrai  que  je  prefbre  un  gris  argents,  mais 
le  ton  chaud  de  Freiburg  fait  bien  et  il  a gagnb  une  certaine  patine 
avec  les  annees.  On  m’a  dit  quand  j’y  btais  que  celle  de  Stras- 
bourg a la  meme  couleur,  mais  je  ne  l’ai  jamais  vue.  Quel  bon- 
heur  pour  Freiburg  d’avoir  tous  ces  petits  ruisseaux  qui  nettoient 
les  rues  et  qui  viennent  de  la  rivibre  Dreisam ! Je  n’admire  pas 
plus  que  toi  la  tendance  polychrome  qu’on  voit  dans  certains  details 
de  la  ville. 

“ Avez-vous  vu  le  chkteau  de  Zahringen  ? II  est  au  nordest  de 
Freiburg,  k trois  kilombtres  environ;  c’est  une  promenade  tres 
facile. 

“ Je  me  suis  demandb  si  k Bale  vous  vous  btiez  arretbs  k l’hotel 
des  Trois-Rois.  II  y a Ik  un  long  balcon  d’oii  l’on  voit  le  fort 
courant  du  Rhin  qui  passe  sous  l’ancien  pont.  Je  me  rappelle 
qu’k  l’extremitb  de  ce  pont,  du  cote  opposb,  il  y avait  une  brasserie 
oil,  en  buvant  son  verre  de  bibre,  on  pouvait  regarder  l’eau  qui 
coulait  tou jours,  et  si  vite. 

“ A.  Lucerne,  j’ai  vu  egalement  couler  la  Reuss  sous  l’ancien 
pont  oil  l’on  voit  la  Danse  de  la  Mort.  Mr.  Macgregor  a ose 
descendre  cette  rivibre  (qui  est  un  torrent  trbs  dangereux  plus  bas) 
en  perissoire.  Ce  n’est  pas  moi  qui  essaierai. 

“Je  continue  k mieux  aller,  je  puis  maintenant  m’endormir 
assez  facilement,  et  je  reste  gbnbralement  dans  mon  lit  toute  la 
nuit,  mais  pas  toujours.  Mon  sommeil  est  souvent  interrompu, 
mais  vite  repris.  En  somme  grand  progrbs. 

“ Bonne-maman  va  beaucoup  mieux  aussi,  elle  prend  de  la  Kola 
qui  lui  fait,  parait-il,  grand  bien. 

“ Stephen  a regagne  l’appbtit  et  part  vendredi  pour  Londres. 

“ Mes  meilleures  amities  k Raoul,  et  tous  mes  souhaits  pour  un 
bon  sbjour  k Lucerne,  cet  endroit  si  ravissant ! 


“Vieux  Papa.” 


568 


MEMOIR. 


To  the  infinite  amusement  of  " Vieux  Papa,”  his  daughter 
answered  immediately,  “We  never  knew  that  you  had  been 
at  Freiburg,”  etc.,  etc. 

In  the  course  of  August  my  husband  had  the  pleasure  of 
becoming  personally  acquainted  with  Mr.  Scribner,  who  called 
upon  him  in  the  company  of  Mr.  Jaccaci. 

The  improvement  in  Gilbert's  state  did  not  last.  We  re- 
newed our  entreaties  about  having  a doctor’s  advice,  and  he 
yielded. 

The  great  physician  whom  we  called  in  declared  it  was 
weakness  of  the  heart  — due  to  overwork  — that  his  patient 
was  suffering  from,  and  not  asthma.  He  promised  to  set  him 
up  again  in  four  months  with  his  prescriptions. 

Strange  to  say,  Gilbert  was  greatly  relieved  to  hear  that 
his  case  was  hypertrophy  of  the  heart  rather  than  asthma  — 
for  me  it  was  the  dreaded  confirmation  of  fears  that  had  long 
haunted  me ; still,  we  both  derived  hope  and  encouragement 
from  the  doctor’s  assurance  of  an  ultimate  cure.  I cannot  say 
that  we  really  believed  in  a total  cure,  but  we  thought  it  pos- 
sible to  recover  the  former  state  of  health  which  had  preceded 
the  attacks  of  suffocation.  “I  have  not  felt  old,  hitherto,” 
my  husband  said,  “ certainly  not  more  than  if  I had  been  only 
fifty;  but  the  fact  is,  I am  now  sixty,  and  therefore  must  be 
prepared  to  face  the  advent  of  old  age.  I will  submit  to  any 
privation  for  the  sake  of  health,  though  it  seems  hard  to  be 
deprived  of  exercise.  It  is  singular  that  my  mental  state 
should  be  clearer  and  more  vigorous  than  ever  before,  and 
that  my  work  should  be  easier  and  more  enjoyable  than  at  any 
former  time.” 

Mr.  Seeley  had  written : — 

“What  a good  thing  you  called  in  this  Parisian  doctor!  It 
might  have  been  serious  if  you  had  gone  on  taking  strong  exercise 
in  your  present  state  of  health. 

“ I can  quite  understand  your  feeling  of  relief  that  at  any  rate 
it  is  not  asthma.  Perhaps  when  you  take  less  exercise  the  gout 
may  return,  and  the  heart  be  relieved  at  once.  That  the  doctor 
confidently  promises  a cure  in  a few  months  is  a great  satisfaction 
to  us.” 


MEMOIR. 


569 


The  good  results  of  the  prescribed  regimen  were  soon  expe- 
rienced, and  I hailed  — not  unhopefully  — the  return  of  an 
attack  of  gout,  predicted  by  Mr.  Seeley,  which  I feared  less 
for  Gilbert  than  the  heart  troubles.  The  doctor  had  said, 
after  hearing  that  the  gout  had  almost  entirely  disappeared, 
“ You  have  made  a bad  bargain  in  exchanging  gout  for 
hypertrophy.” 

This  is  what  my  husband  himself  wrote  to  his  friend:  — 

“ The  worst  of  me  just  now  for  making  inquiries,  is  that  on 
getting  up  this  morning  I found  I had  an  attack  of  gout  in  my 
right  knee.  Hitherto  it  is  only  slight  (I  write  at  two  p.  m.),  but 
I cannot  bend  it  without  considerable  pain,  so  I must  wait  till 
to-morrow  at  any  rate,  before  trying  to  go  to  Paris.  It  is  quite 
possible  that  the  attack  may  be  very  slight,  but  it  is  also  possible 
that  I may  be  laid  up  by  it.  However  this  may  be,  I will  of  course 
keep  your  letter,  and  do  all  in  my  power  to  help  in  the  present 
emergency. 

“ Many  thanks  for  your  very  kind  letter  about  my  doctor’s  visit. 
I wish  I had  known  him  ten  years  sooner.  He  is  most  scrupu- 
lously observant  of  things  as  they  really  are,  and  does  not  set  off, 
as  doctors  often  do,  from  a preconceived  notion  of  his  own.  The 
results  of  the  regimen  are  already  beneficial.  My  nights  have 
been  gradually  improving  since  it  began.  Last  night  I slept 
perfectly  till  about  two  in  the  morning,  and  then  awoke  without 
any  suffocation,  and  soon  fell  asleep  again,  remaining  quiet  with 
good  breathing  till  half-past  six.  About  a week  since  I could  not 
sleep  at  all , being  immediately  awakened  by  suffocation  every  time 
I began  to  drop  off. 

“ Please  thank  Mrs.  Seeley  on  my  part  and  my  wife’s  for  her 
kind  sympathy,  which  we  know  is  most  sincere.  Tell  her  I regret 
to  have  called  you  her  teetotal  husband,  as  I am  no  better  myself. 
Nay,  it  is  you  who  have  the  advantage  of  me  with  your  two  glasses 
of  claret,  which  I call  downright  intemperance.”  (He  was  allowed 
to  drink  nothing  but  milk.) 

Our  children  feeling  uneasy  still,  and  anxious  about  the 
state  of  their  father,  cut  their  journey  rather  short  to  be  back 
again  with  him.  M.  Eaillard  wished  to  see  Sens  in  coming 
back,  and  the  house  we  had  lived  in  there.  So  his  father-in- 
law  sent  him  some  information  about  the  place,  and  added:  — 


570 


MEMOIR. 


“ Ne  manquez  pas  surtout  de  voir  l’int^rieur  de  la  Salle  Synodale 
qui  est  peut-etre  la  plus  belle  salle  gothique  du  monde  apres  celle 
de  Westminster.  Le  tr^sor  de  la  Cath^drale  est  interessant. 

“ Je  continue  h me  porter  beaucoup  mieux.  Les  nuits  sont 
bonnes. 

“ A bientot,  puisque  vous  avez  la  bonne  pensde  de  revenir. 

“ Bien  cordialement  a vous.” 

The  rules  of  work  had  been,  perforce,  relaxed  lately,  and 
almost  all  the  working  time  had  been  devoted  to  writing  the 
“ Quest  of  Happiness,”  and  an  article  on  “ Formative  Influ- 
ences ” for  the  “ Forum,”  besides  the  concluding  articles  for 
“ Scribner’s  Magazine.” 

A decided  and  rapid  improvement  in  health  had  taken  place, 
and  when,  at  the  beginning  of  October,  Miss  Betham-Edwards 
came  to  see  us,  she  found  my  husband  much  as  usual  — 
though  looking  older  — as  she  told  me  afterwards. 

A few  days  after  she  had  come  to  dejeuner  at  Clematis  we 
went  to  lunch  with  her  at  her  hotel,  and  spent  the  whole  day 
together,  visiting  the  Musee  Carnavalet,  and  having  a long 
walk  the  whole  way  back  to  the  Kue  d’ Alger.  We  crossed 
the  Cour  du  Louvre,  where  my  husband  explained  in  detail 
the  various  transformations  and  changes  in  the  architecture  of 
the  palace  at  different  periods  of  time.  Then,  in  the  fading 
twilight,  we  had  a look  at  the  magnificent  and  poetical  vista 
opened  by  the  removal  of  the  Tuileries,  before  saying  good- 
bye ; and  when  we  reached  Clematis  for  a late  dinner,  Gilbert 
told  my  mother  that  he  had  enjoyed  the  day  and  did  not  feel 
tired  in  the  least. 

On  the  following  Sunday  we  had  a long  walk  in  the  Avenue 
du  Bois  de  Boulogne  with  some  friends,  and  near  the  Arc  de 
Triomphe  de  l’Etoile  we  happened  to  espy  the  doctor,  when 

my  husband  remarked  cheerfully,  “ Doctor  B , who  was 

to  see  me  again  in  two  months,  would  be  surprised  to  hear  that 
I am  cured  already.” 

On  October  17,  a fire  was  lighted  for  the  first  time  this 
autumn  in  Gilbert’s  study,  and  before  the  flue  became  heated 
and  a good  draught  produced,  the  smoke  was  considerable.  I 
warned  him  not  to  remain  in  the  room,  the  air  being  so  bad; 


MEMOIR. 


571 


he  answered  that  as  soon  as  the  work  he  had  begun  allowed  of 
it,  he  would  go  out.  I left  the  door  open  on  purpose,  and 
begged  him  not  to  close  it;  but  when  I went  up  again  with 
the  letters  — two  hours  after  — I found  him  still  at  work,  in 
an  atmosphere  of  dense  yellow  smoke,  without  possible  escape, 
the  door  having  been  closed  again.  As  usual,  when  writing, 
my  husband  became  so  wrapt  in  his  work  that  he  was  not 
conscious  of  anything  outside  of  it. 

I became  alarmed  for  him,  as  I could  hardly  breathe,  but 
he  felt  no  inconvenience  just  then. 

In  the  afternoon  he  had  a walk,  but  in  the  evening  he  went 
up  again  to  the  study,  and  remained  there  over  an  hour,  giv- 
ing a lesson  in  English  pronunciation  to  one  of  his  nephews. 
The  smoke  had,  however,  subsided,  and  the  fire  burned 
steadily. 

At  half-past  one  I was  awakened  by  a sensation  of  chill  on 
the  forehead  — it  came  from  my  husband’s  lips  — he  was  giv- 
ing me,  as  he  thought,  a last  kiss,  for  he  murmured  faintly, 
“ J’ai  voulu  te  dire  que  je  t’ai  bien  aimee,  car  je  crois  que  je 
vais  mourir.” 

He  was  deadly  pale,  but  quite  collected.  I helped  him  to 
dress,  and  we  managed  to  reach  the  garden  for  purer  air. 
He  wrote  afterwards  in  his  diary  that  his  sufferings  had  been 
horrible,  and  lasted  in  full  two  hours  and  a half.  I tried  to 
encourage  him  in  the  struggle  for  life,  by  saying  that  it  was 
asthma,  and  that  I had  witnessed  a dear  relation  of  ours 
struggling  sucessfully  through  several  similar  attacks.  I felt 
certain  now  that  it  was  asthma,  and  I said  so  to  the  doctor  on 
the  following  day.  He  answered,  “ It  is  cardiac  asthma,  then.  ” 

It  was  freezing  hard  outside,  and  as  soon  as  he  recovered 
breathing  power,  I led  my  husband  to  the  drawing-room  sofa, 
which  I wheeled  in  front  of  the  chimney,  and  the  wood  being 
piled  up  ready  for  a fire,  I made  a great  blaze,  and  opened  the 
windows  wide  at  the  same  time.  Once  stretched  on  the  couch 
and  wrapped  up  in  blankets,  facing  the  leaping  flames,  he  soon 
regained  vital  warmth , and  his  breathing  became  more  regular. 

Altogether  the  crisis  had  lasted  five  hours,  during  which  I 
had  remained  alone  with  him  without  even  calling  a maid,  for 


572 


MEMOIR. 


fear  of  making  him  worse  through  annoyance.  I affected 
entire  freedom  from  anxiety  as  to  the  end,  merely  expressing 
sympathy  with  his  momentary  sufferings,  and  I was  thankful 
to  succeed  in  deceiving  him. 

As  soon  as  he  felt  well  enough  to  be  left  for  a short  time,  I 
hastened  to  the  doctor’s,  but  went  first  to  tell  Mary  and  her 
husband  of  the  sad  occurrence,  that  they  might  go  to  their 
father  while  I should  be  away. 

The  doctor  attributed  the  attack  entirely  to  the  effect  of  the 
smoke,  and  said  it  had  nothing  to  do  with  my  husband’s 
malady  — “ he  had  been  asphyxiated ; ” it  would  have  no  last- 
ing effects,  except  as  to  retarding  the  cure;  the  ground  gained 
since  the  beginning  of  the  regimen  had  been  lost,  and  it  was 
all  to  begin  over  again. 

I did  not  attempt  to  disguise  from  him  my  anxious  fears 
nor  my  feelings  when  I had  witnessed  my  husband’s  tortures 
without  any  means  or  hopes  of  alleviating  them;  “for,”  I 
added,  “I  have  been  told  there  is  no  help  in  cases  of  acute 
asthma.”  “There  was  not,”  he  answered,  “till  a quite 
recent  discovery;  but  now  immediate  relief  may  be  given  by 
injections  of  serum.” 

Though  he  assured  me  that  there  would  be  no  other  attack 
of  the  same  kind  if  we  took  care  to  have  only  wood  fires  and 
no  smoke,  I insisted  upon  being  recommended  to  a reliable 
doctor,  not  far  from  our  house,  who  would  promise  to  come 
at  any  time  of  night  if  we  needed  him,  and  who  would  always 
have  serum  in  his  possession  — the  great  specialist  being  him- 
self at  too  great  a distance  from  us  to  be  fetched  in  an  emer- 
gency. The  very  doctor  I wanted  happened  to  be  this  very 
day  sharing,  as  he  often  did,  the  labors  and  studies  of  the 
specialist.  He  was  called  in,  and,  after  listening  to  an  ex- 
planation, gave  me  the  promise  I desired,  and  said  he  would 
follow  me  immediately  to  Clematis  to  see  the  patient;  and 
if  he  should  see  the  necessity  for  it,  would  ask  his  friend  to 
join  him  at  our  house  for  a consultation. 

As  he  noticed  the  distress  under  which  I was  laboring,  the 
physician  kindly  said  before  I left  him:  “I  repeat,  that  I 
do  not  apprehend  a recurrence  of  what  happened  last  night  — 


MEMOIR. 


573 


but,  si  par  impossible  une  autre  crise  semblable  survenait, 
rappelez-vous  bien  que,  m§me  suivie  de  syncope,  elle  ne  serait 
jamais  mortelle .” 

I believed  him,  though  my  heart  was  still  heavy  at  the 
thoughts  of  the  sufferings  that  the  future  might  bring  to  my 
husband.  I felt  greatly  relieved  in  being  able  to  give  him 
the  doctor’s  assurance  that  there  was  no  danger  for  his  life. 

I was  happy  on  entering  the  drawing-room  to  see  him 
quietly  talking  with  Mary  and  Raoul,  and  eating  grapes. 
He  said  that,  with  the  exception  of  fatigue,  he  felt  very  well 
indeed.  He  had  taken  some  broth,  and  partook  of  a light 
dinner  with  pleasure. 

The  doctor  delegated  by  the  physician,  after  an  examina- 
tion, merely  confirmed  what  had  been  said  to  me,  and  saw  no 
necessity  for  a consultation  with  his  friend. 

On  the  morrow  we  arranged  a temporary  study  to  avoid 
fresh  troubles  with  the  stove,  and  kept  up  good  ventilation 
with  a bright  wood  fire  and  frequent  opening  of  windows 
looking  out  on  the  garden. 

Gilbert  resumed  his  ordinary  work  with  great  moderation, 
taking  care  to  interrupt  whatever  he  was  doing  every  hour  by  a 
short  walk  in  the  open  air,  according  to  medical  advice.  Four 
days  later  I find  this  entry  in  the  note-book : “ October  24. 
Walked  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  towards  evening  in  an  en- 
chantment of  color  and  light;  beautiful  autumnal  color  on 
trees.  ” 

One  of  my  husband’s  last  satisfactions  in  life  was  a letter 
for  Mr.  Burlingame,  about  the  work  lately  done  for  Messrs. 
Scribner.  Here  is  a passage  out  of  it : — 

“ I have  long  had  in  mind  to  say,  a propos  of  the  conclusion  of 
the  series,  how  much  of  a success  I think  our  last  plan  proved,  and 
how  cordially  we  all  appreciate  the  very  valuable  and  punctual 
fulfilment  which  you  kindly  gave  to  it.  All  our  relations  during 
its  progress  were  a great  pleasure  to  me ; and  I hope  it  will  not 
be  long  before  the  Magazine  may  have  the  benefit  of  your  help 
again.  It  will  always  gratify  us  very  much  to  know  of  any  sug- 
gestion or  papers  that  occur  to  you  which  you  might  be  inclined 
to  send  our  way. 


574 


MEMOIR. 


“Mr.  Scribner  and  Mr.  Jaccaci  are  back  again;  and  we  all 
often  speak  of  you.  with  pleasant  recollections  of  your  kindness 
in  Paris.” 

Although  Messrs.  Scribner’s  pecuniary  arrangements  were 
very  liberal,  my  husband’s  satisfaction  in  his  dealings  with 
them  was  mostly  derived  from  their  courtesy;  for  though  he 
was  obliged  to  take  money  into  consideration,  it  was  almost 
the  least  weighty  of  considerations  with  him.  He  often  said 
he  did  not  like  money;  he  looked  upon  it  as  the  indispensable 
means  of  providing  necessaries,  and  thereby  affording  the 
mind  sufficient  peace  to  apply  itself  to  study  in  freedom  from 
anxious  cares.  He  never  desired  riches  or  luxury,  and  hated 
to  have  to  think  about  money  matters  or  to  talk  about  them, 
even  to  me;  and  aware  that  the  subject  was  more  than  dis- 
agreeable, — painful,  — I avoided  it  as  much  as  possible. 

After  the  first  terrible  attack  of  suffocation,  Mr.  Seeley  had 
been  reluctant  to  ask  for  my  husband’s  help;  still,  as  he  had 
recovered  so  soon,  and  had  resumed  his  ordinary  avocations, 
he  was  willing  and  able  to  do  several  urgent  things  for  the 
“ Portfolio,”  and  Mr.  Seeley  wrote:  — 

“ You  have  done,  before  receiving  my  last  letter,  exactly  what 
it  asked  you  to  do.  What  a good  thing  when  editor  and  publisher 
are  in  such  perfect  rapport. 

“ I hope  you  have  not  had  any  more  attacks.” 

No,  he  had  not;  and  his  nights  were  quiet  again,  though 
he  got  up  very  early,  at  four  or  five  in  the  morning,  and  had 
a nap  in  the  afternoon.  The  only  thing  he  complained  of 
was  a sensation  of  weakness  unknown  to  him  before.  It  was 
not  sufficient  to  be  called  painful,  but  still  he  felt  it  to  be 
there,  and  hoped  to  get  rid  of  it  when  allowed  a little  beer  or 
claret.  He  so  much  disliked  drinking  milk  at  meal-times 
that  it  quite  spoilt  his  appetite,  until  the  doctor  said  he 
might  have  water  during  his  repasts,  and  milk  in  the  intervals. 

On  account  of  the  diminution  in  strength,  I was  afraid  of 
the  effects  that  fatigue  might  produce,  and  did  not  like  to  see 
him  go  so  often  to  Paris  as  he  had  lately  done,  especially  to 


MEMOIR. 


575 


the  exhibitions;  but  when  it  could  not  be  avoided,  I managed 
to  go  with  him,  under  the  pretext  that  I was  interested  in 
them  myself. 

On  November  4 he  asked  me  if  I should  like  to  go  with 
him  to  the  Louvre,  where  he  had  to  see  the  Salle  des 
Primitifs.  I said  yes.  He  spent  an  hour  there,  enjoying 
heartily  the  best  pictures,  and  extolling  their  merits  as  we 
were  coming  back.  According  to  his  habit,  he  was  reading 
in  the  tram-car  on  his  way  home,  and  I noticed  that  it  was  a 
volume  of  “ Virgil,”  and  in  looking  up  from  the  book  to  his 
face,  I observed  that  he  looked  paler  than  usual.  I inquired 
if  he  felt  tired.  He  answered,  “ Not  in  the  least.”  And 
when  we  reached  home  he  went  up  straight  to  his  study,  and 
wrote  till  the  bell  called  him  to  dinner.  We  had  a pleasant 
talk  about  the  pictures  he  had  just  studied,  while  he  was  eating 
with  a good  appetite. 

After  dinner,  as  usual,  he  took  up  his  newspaper  and  read 
for  about  ten  minutes,  when  he  suddenly  threw  it  aside  and 
told  me  the  action  of  the  heart  was  unsatisfactory.  I pro- 
posed at  once  to  go  to  the  garden,  but  the  suddenness  and 
violence  of  the  attack  did  not  allow  him  to  reach  it.  When 
in  the  open  air,  just  above  the  few  stone  steps,  he  had  to  stop 
and  grasp  the  railing  till  the  last  anguish  deprived  him  of 
breath  and  of  life,  long  before  the  arrival  of  the  doctors, 
whom  I had  sent  for  as  soon  as  he  had  felt  oppressed. 

He  had  never  feared  death,  whatever  might  await  him 
after  — conscious  of  a useful  and  blameless  life.  He  died  as 
he  had  desired  to  die,  standing  alone  with  me  under  the 
moonlit  sky,  unconfined,  escaping  from  the  decrepitude  of  old 
age,  still  in  the  full  possession  and  maturity  of  his  talents, 
and  in  the  active  use  of  them. 

Two  hours  before  his  death  he  had  been  writing  these  last 
words  for  the  “ Quest  of  Happiness  ” : — 

“If  I indulge  my  imagination  in  dreaming  about  a country 
where  justice  and  right  would  always  surely  prevail,  where  the  weak 
would  never  be  oppressed,  nor  an  honest  man  incur  any  penalty 
for  his  honesty  — a country  where  no  animal  would  ever  be  ill- 
treated  or  killed,  otherwise  than  in  mercy  — that  is  truly  ideal 


576 


MEMOIR. 


dreaming,  because,  however  far  I travel,  I shall  not  find  such  a 
country  in  the  world,  and  there  is  not  any  record  of  such  a country 
in  the  authentic  history  of  mankind.” 

Let  us  hope  he  may  have  found  this  ideal  country  in  the 
unknown  world. 


INDEX 


A. 

Abba  ye  des  Vaux-de-Cerney,  1’,  543. 
Aberdeen,  University  of,  the,  557. 
“Academy,”  the,  406,  524. 

Adisham,  331. 

Ady,  Mrs.  Henry  (Julia  Cartwright), 
482,  555. 

Alcott,  May,  391. 

Alexander,  Edward,  76,  77. 

Alexander,  Mrs.  Edward,  77. 

Alexander,  Henry,  55,  56,  77. 

Algiers,  341. 

Alma,  1’,  545. 

Alma-Tadema,  Mr.,  427,  436,  437. 
Alma-Tadema,  Mrs.,  437. 
Amand-Durand,  M.,  353. 

Ambleside,  104. 

Amiens,  321,  328,  329,  396. 

Ampere,  Andr4  Marie,  414. 

Ampere,  Jean  Jacques,  389,  414. 
Anglesea,  24. 

Antoine,  l’Abbd,  383. 

Appleton,  Mr.,  406. 

Arago,  419. 

Arches,  Beatrix  de,  191. 

Arches,  de,  family  of,  191. 

“ Architecte,  P,  ” 472. 

Ardhonnel,  257. 

Ardhonnel  Castle,  252. 

Argenteuil,  545. 

Argyll,  Duke  of,  195. 

Argyllshire,  199. 

Arles,  272. 

Armitage,  Edward,  352. 

Arnold,  Matthew,  436. 

Aros,  Bay  of,  111. 

Ars,  the  Cure  d’,  389. 

“Art,  1’,”  415,  467. 

37 


Artists,  leading  French,  323. 

Asnteres,  283,  545. 

Asselin,  M.,  442. 

Atkinson  J.,  Bearington,  298,  351. 

“Atlantic  Monthly,”  the,  344,  486, 
498. 

Auchincraig,  111. 

Autobiography,  necessarily  an  untrue 
representation  of  its  subject,  1. 

Autotype  Company,  the,  407,  408. 

Autun,  73,  288,  360,  361,  362,  369, 
373,  378,  380,  381,  382,  383,  423, 
439,  444,  453,  468,  509,  518,  519, 
520,  542,  546. 

Autun,  Bishop  of,  383,  425. 

Auteuil,  547. 

“Autunois,  1’,”  423,  424. 

Auxerre,  466. 

Avallon,  520. 


B. 

Baalbec,  135. 

Bale,  283. 

Balham,  398. 

Balliol  College,  92. 

Bardsley,  Rev.  James,  80  ; description 
of,  80;  aggressiveness  against  the 
church  of  Rome,  30. 

Barker,  Mr.,  560. 

Barlow,  Thomas,  306. 

Bartlett,  Mr.,  135. 

Bastien-Lepage,  Emile,  556. 

Baudin,  239. 

Baudrv,  Paul,  457. 

“Beamish,  Mr.,”  324-327. 

Beaucaire,  271,  475. 

Beljame,  A.,  508,  509. 


578 


INDEX. 


Ben  Cruachan,  198,  234. 

Ben  Lomond,  107. 

Ben  Yorlich,  234. 

Beresford-Hope,  294. 

Berne,  283. 

Besant,  Walter,  115. 

Betham-Edwards,  Miss,  445,  471,  482, 
548,  570. 

Biblioth^que,  the,  441,  442. 

Bixio,  Alexandra,  264. 

Black,  Messrs.  A.  and  C.,  304,  540. 
Black,  Adam,  546. 

Black,  Mrs.  Adam,  546,  550. 

Black,  William,  111. 

Blackwood,  Messrs.,  394. 

Blackwood,  Mr.,  344,  353,  410. 

Blake,  Mr.,  402,  407. 

Blanc,  Charles,  346. 

Bodley,  Mr.,  518. 

Boilvin,  M.,  202. 

Bois  de  Boulogne,  the,  543. 

Bolton  Abbey,  163. 

Bonheur,  Rosa,  244. 

Bonomi,  135;  characteristics  of,  136. 
Bordone,  General,  360. 

“ Boston  Courier,”  the,  428. 

Bougival,  543. 

Bourbon-Lancy,  517. 

Bourg,  289. 

Bourges,  465. 

Bourges,  Michel  de,  239. 
Bourg-la-Reine,  505. 

Bourg  St.  And&fl,  474. 

Boysset,  239. 

Bracquemond,  M.,  352, 415. 

Brandir  Pass,  110. 

Breadalbane,  Marquis  of,  195. 

Brett,  John,  214. 

Brighton,  93. 

British  Museum,  the,  298,  334. 

Bronte,  Charlotte,  188. 

Brou,  289. 

Browne,  George,  192. 

Browning,  Barrett,  v. 

Browning,  Robert,  427,  447,  450,  454- 
456, 464,  465. 

Brun,  the,  72. 

Brunet-Debaines,  323,  395. 
Buckingham  Palace,  298. 

“Builder,  The,”  472. 

Bulliot,  M.,  380,  517,  534. 


Burgess,  Mr.,  313. 

Burlingame,  Mr.,  vi,  551,  552,  559, 
573. 

Burne-Jones,  Sir  E.,  351. 

Burnley,  14,  80 ; Roman  Catholic 
church  erected  at,  81;  militia  at, 
117,  119,  462,  464,  534. 

Burnley  Grammar  School,  40,  65; 
Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton’s  life  at, 
65-69;  public  discussions  in,  68; 
library  at,  76. 

Burton,  Sir  Frederick,  555. 

Butler,  Dr.,  19;  affection  of  Philip 
Gilbert  Hamerton  for,  65;  descrip- 
tion of,  66 ; as  a teacher,  67 ; concern 
about  Hamerton’s  success  at  Ox- 
ford, 92,  93. 

Byron,  George  Gordon,  Lord,  Philip 
Gilbert  Hamerton’s  love  for,  95, 
138. 


C. 

Cadart,  323. 

Caernarvon,  24,  160. 

Caird,  Messrs.,  106. 

Calais,  398,  513. 

“Calais  Pier,”  386,  387. 

Calderon,  Philip,  245,  305,  352,  383, 
400,  529. 

Cameron,  Mrs.,  295. 

Campbell,  Mr.,  of  Monzie,  195. 
Canada,  wilds  of,  109. 

Canterbury,  332. 

Cape,  Mr.,  description  of,  41,  47,  49, 
51-61;  as  a school  teacher,  51-60; 
quiet  influence  of,  61-63;  religious 
views,  62 ; failing  health  and  death 
of,  62. 

Carnot,  President,  564. 
Casimir-Pdrier,  M.,  564. 

Cassagnac,  M.  de,  524. 

Castellane,  General,  419. 

Cavour,  264. 

Celle  St.  Cloud,  la,  543. 

Cercy-la-Tour,  394. 

Cesaresco,  Countess  Martinengo,  550. 
Chagny,  387,  442. 

Challard,  328. 

Challard,  Madame,  441. 

1 Chalon,  387,  444,  445,  475,  498,  502. 


INDEX . 


579 


Chalon-sur-Saone,  495. 

Chambers’  Encyclopaedia,  524. 
Chamouni,  289. 

Champneys,  Basil,  352. 

Chantilly,  513. 

Chantrey,  Sir  Francis,  138. 

Chapman,  John,  146,  description  of, 
146,  147. 

“Chapters  on  Animals,”  376,  378. 
“Characters  of  Balzac,”  362. 
Charbonnat,  511. 

Chateau  de  Chevreuse,  the,  543. 
Chateau  Renaud,  368. 

Chatillon,  A.  de,  493. 

Chatillon,  M.  de,  493. 

Chattock,  Mr.,  352. 

Chauvel,  M.,  the  etcher,  202. 

Checa,  M.,  561. 

Church,  Mrs.,  435. 

Church,  Professor,  435. 

Cladich,  108,  110. 

Claude,  M.,  307. 

“Clematis,  Villa,”  537,  541,  570. 
Clifford,  Lord,  192. 

Clifton,  Captain,  262. 

Clifton,  Lady  Bertha,  262. 

Clyde,  the,  110. 

Cocker,  Anne,  5 ; courtship,  5 ; de- 
scription of,  5-13  ; marriage  to  John 
Hammerton,  7 ; premature  death 
of,  7. 

Cocker,  Philip,  4 ; death  of,  5. 

Cocker,  Mrs.  Philip,  4;  opposes 
daughter’s  match  with  John  Ham- 
merton, 5;  letter  from  John  Ham- 
merton to,  5. 

Cole,  Vicat,  427. 

Colnaghi,  Messrs.,  298,  310. 

Coloring,  talent  of,  376. 

Colvin,  Sidney,  v,  346,  351,  378,  427. 
Compi&gne,  547. 

Comte,  Auguste,  345. 

Conisborough  Castle,  49. 

Conservative  Party,  the,  101. 
Constable,  John,  Leslie’s  admiration 
for,  133 ; Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton’s 
estimate  of  134. 

Constable,  Mr.  (the  younger),  297. 

“ Contemporary  French  Painters,” 
323. 

Cook,  Mr.,  329,  333. 


“Cornhill  Magazine,”  the,  382. 

Corot,  233,  323,  467. 

Cote  d’Or,  the,  285. 

Courbet,  323. 

Cousin,  Jean,  287,  328. 

Cowes,  420,  444. 

Craik,  Mr.,  312,  332,  421,  429,  430, 
490,  501,  504,  516. 

Craik,  Mrs.  D.  M.,  332,  340. 

Cravant,  520. 

Craven,  193. 

Cr^mieux,  M.,  335. 

Crompton  Hall,  4. 

Crompton,  Miss,  4. 

Croydon,  332. 

Cruachan,  110. 

Cucinotta,  352. 

Cumberland,  Earl  of,  192. 


D. 

“ Daily  News,”  the,  510. 

Dalmally,  108,  110. 

Darmesteter,  James,  554,  555. 

Darwin,  Charles,  86. 

Daubigny,  C.  F.,  244,  323,  467. 

Davis,  Mr.,  383. 

Davoust,  Marshal,  466. 

Decamps,  376. 

Decize,  394. 

“ D^bats,”  the,  404. 

Delaborde,  M.,  489,  490,  500. 
Delacroix,  376. 

Delaroche,  376. 

Delatre,  M.,  317. 

Derby,  Lord,  516. 

Dereims,  Dr.,  317,  318. 

Derwentwater,  102, 125. 

Deschamps,  Louis,  561. 

Dickens,  Charles,  295. 

Dieppe,  213,  367. 

Dijon,  211,  530. 

Dinorbin,  Lord,  22. 

Dobson,  Mr.,  383. 

Doncaster,  40,  398,  459. 

Doncaster  School,  40;  description  of 
life  at,  41-50. 

Dor£,  Gustave,  323. 

Dover,  330,  398,  458. 

Doyle  Richard,  144. 


580  INDEX. 


“ Drawing,”  articles  on,  404. 

Dreux,  465. 

Duart  Castle,  111. 

Dugald,  226. 

Dumas,  Alexandre,  272. 

Dundera,  ruined  castle  of,  108. 
Durand-Ruel,  M.,  531. 

Diirer,  Albert,  125. 

Dyer,  Thiselton,  436. 

Dyer,  Mrs.  Thiselton,  436. 

Dyserth,  23. 

E. 

£cole  de  Fontainebleau,  the,  441. 
Edinburgh,  110. 

Egypt,  projected  journey  to,  135. 

Eliot,  George  (Marian  Evans),  122, 
146,  294,  295,  312,  313,  334,  335. 
346,  372,  400,  409. 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo,  165,  391. 
Emerson,  Mrs.  Ralph  Waldo,  391. 
Encamping,  184;  value,  as  a part  of 
educational  discipline,  184. 
“Encyclopedia  Britannica,”  404,  540. 
English  Academy,  the,  395. 

English  Lakes,  the,  105. 

“ Essays  on  Art,”  422. 

Etang,  511. 

Etang  de  St.  Cucufa,  P,  543. 
Etang-des-Poissons,  P,  511. 

“Etching  and  Etchers,”  293,  333, 
378,  384,  389,  423,  429,  437,  439, 
441,  443. 

“Etcher’s  Handbook,”  the,  362,  370. 
“ Examples  of  Modern  Etching,”  352. 
Exposition  du  Centenaire,  the,  512. 
Evans,  Miss  Marian,  see  Eliot , George. 


F. 

Falls  of  Clyde,  107. 

Featherstone,  398,  459,  461. 

Fenton,  Captain,  118;  description  of, 
118. 

Feyen-Perrin,  M.,  415. 

“ Fine  Arts  Quarterly  Review,”  the, 
291,  328. 

Fisher,  Mr.,  298. 

Flameng,  Francois,  531. 


Flameng,  Leopold,  323,  352,  403,  427, 
530,  531. 

Flameng,  Madame  Leopold,  530,  531. 

Flatford,  134. 

Flaxman,  138. 

Fontainebleau,  321,  397. 

Fontaine  la  M6re,  410. 

Fontenay,  M.  de,  384,  387. 

“Forum,”  the,  524,  543,  570. 

Fourvieres,  473. 

Franco-English  Guild,  the,  478,  560. 

Franco-Prussian  War,  358. 

“Fraser’s  Magazine,”  167. 

Frederick  Charles,  Prince,  369. 

Freeman,  Mr.,  400,  401. 

Freiburg,  566,  567. 

“ French  and  English,”  493,  498,  501, 
527. 

Frere,  Sir  Bartle,  338. 

Froment,  M.,  317. 

G. 

Garches,  543. 

Garibaldi,  360. 

Garrick  Club,  the,  437. 

Gautherin,  M.,  394. 

Geddes,  307. 

Geneva,  283. 

George  IV.,  5. 

George,  Ernest,  499. 

German  neology,  81 ; defined,  82. 

G^rome,  M.,  432. 

Gilbert,  Sir  John,  352,  383,  427. 

Gindriez,  M.,  177;  his  family,  178; 
his  eldest  daughter,  180;  Directeur 
de  l’Usine  a Gaz,  266 ; forms  part- 
nership with  Philip  Gilbert  Hamer- 
ton,  269 ; death  of,  278. 

Gindriez,  Madame,  369,  370,  546. 

Gindriez,  Alice,  534. 

Gindriez,  Caroline,  264,  271,  277  ; 
marriage  to  M.  Pelletier,  319 ; 341, 
372,  404. 

Gindriez,  Charles,  288,  341,  367,  373, 
423. 

Gindriez,  Eugenie,  v,  vi,  180;  Philip 
Gilbert  Hamerton  proposes  to,  208; 
he  is  accepted,  209 ; her  marriage, 
212;  wedding  journey,  213;  first 
glimpse  of  Loch  Awe,  219  ; first 


INDEX. 


581 


journey  to  France  after  her  mar- 
riage, 238-246  ; prejudice  of  Su- 
san Hamerton  against,  239;  re- 
ception by  her  husband’s  family, 
242;  birth  of  son,  248;  change  in 
feeling  of  Susan  Hamerton  toward*, 
265;  life  at  Sens,  270-286;  life  at 
Pr^-Charmoy,  287-322;  instruction 
of,  her  children,  299,  300;  visit  to 
Paris,  302  ; letters  from  her  husband 
from  London,  303-322;  interest  in 
languages,  315 ; increasing  deafness, 
315;  joins  her  husband  at  Amiens, 
329;  life  at  “La  Tuilerie,”  356; 
association  with  her  husband  in 
his  work,  375;  her  “Golden  Medi- 
ocrity,” 498;  suicide  of  her  son 
Richard,  506;  marriage  of  her  daugh- 
ter Mary,  511;  goes  to  live  near 
Paris,  533;  death  of  her  husband, 
575. 

Gindriez,  Frederic,  341. 

Glactere,  la,  303. 

Glasgow,  107,  430. 

Glasgow  Institute  of  Fine  Arts,  the, 
430. 

Glencoe,  234. 

Glen  Etive,  234. 

“Globe,”  the,  344,  353,  359. 

Gloucester,  Richard,  Duke  of,  191. 

“ Golden  Mediocrity,”  498. 

Goldsmith,  Oliver,  139. 

Gould,  Mr.,  311. 

Gould,  Anne,  302. 

Gould,  Annie  Jane  Hamerton,  306. 

Gould,  C.,  562. 

Goupil,  446,  531. 

Graham,  Mr.,  22. 

Graham,  Peter,  vi,  365. 

Grand  Llama  of  Thibet,  119. 

Grande  Verriere,  la,  511. 

“Graphic  Arts,”  the,  423,  431,  437, 
439,  441,  442, 443,  445,  446,  450,  485. 

Great  Exhibition,  the,  88,  89. 

Greeks,  the,  Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton’s 
indifference  to,  75. 

Green,  Mr.,  the  historian,  398. 

Greenock,  105,  230. 

Grenaud,  352. 

Gudrin,  A.,  278. 

Gusman,  Pierre,  548. 


H. 

Haden,  Sir  F.  Sevmour,  202,  297, 
299,  308,  333,  339,  352,  370,  373, 
384,  386,  387,  399,  450,  469,  559, 
563. 

Haden,  Lady,  334,  400,  563. 

Halifax,  70. 

Hamerton,  Adam  de,  191. 

Hamerton,  Anne,  247,  248;  marriage 
of,  280. 

Hamerton,  Gilbert,  15 ; marriage,  15 ; 
estrangement  between  James  Ham- 
erton and,  16;  death,  17 ; description 
of,  17. 

Hamerton,  Mrs.  Gilbert,  15. 

Hamerton,  Henry,  192. 

Hamerton,  Holden,  emigrates  to  New 
Zealand,  152;  reasons  for  emigra- 
tion, 152-155. 

Hamerton,  James,  estrangement  be- 
tween Gilbert  Hamerton  and,  16. 

Hamerton,  Jane,  262,  281,  284. 

Hamerton,  John  (nephew  of  Sir 
Stephen),  192. 

Hamerton,  John  (of  Hellifield  Peel), 
463,  500. 

Hamerton,  Lawrence,  16,  192. 

Hamerton,  Mary,  7,  16;  affection  of 
Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton  for,  25; 
comes  to  Ivy  Cottage,  35;  named 
as  guardian  for  Philip  Gilbert 
Hamerton,  39;  has  incurable  dis- 
ease, 64;  visit  to  London  in  1851, 
88 ; welcome  to  Mrs.  Philip  Gilbert 
Hamerton,  239,  242,  247,  252,  262, 
271;  death  of,  274. 

Hamerton,  Mary  Susan  Marguerite, 
292,  303,  314.  359,  381,  386,  416, 
435,  437,  442,  454,  456,  457,  458, 

460,  461,  463,  472,  473,  476,  479, 

483,  488,  489,  490,  496,  505,  506, 

507,  509,  511,  513,  514,  530,  532, 

533,  535,  541,  543,  547,  548,  549, 
550,  553,  560,  566,  567,  573. 

Hamerton,  Philip  Gilbert,  v,  vi ; 
reasons  for  writing  autobiography, 
1 ; contemplation  of  death,  2 ; birth. 
4;  description  of  parents,  5-13; 
death  of  mother,  7;  childhood,  14- 


582 


INDEX. 


20;  grandparents,  15-18;  tour  in 
Wales,  21-25;  affection  for  Mary 
Hanierton,  25;  lack  of  confidence 
in  his  father,  26;  called  home  to 
live  with  his  father,  27 ; cruelty  of 
his  father,  28-37 ; extreme  loneli- 
ness, 33;  Mary  Hanierton  comes  to 
Ivy  Cottage,  35 ; death  of  his  father, 
37;  dislike  for  Shaw,  39;  Mary 
Hamerton  named  as  guardian  of, 
39;  plan  for  education  of,  40;  goes 
to  Doncaster  School,  40;  life  at 
Doncaster,  41-50;  early  attempts  at 
English  verse,  51 ; school  incidents, 
52-61;  fagging,  54;  school  friends, 
55-57 ; early  interest  in  theology, 
61;  leaves  Doncaster,  63;  education 
becomes  less  satisfactory,  64;  affec- 
tion for  Dr.  Butler,  65;  life  at  Burn- 
ley Grammar  School,  65-69;  writes 
a prize  poem,  66;  debate  on  Queen 
Elizabeth,  68;  goes  to  live  at  Hol- 
lins, 71 ; attachment  for  Hollins,  71; 
first  experience  in  art-criticism,  72; 
his  first  catamaran,  73;  similarity  of 
life  at  Hollins  to  later  life  in  France, 
73,  74;  interest  in  the  Middle  Ages, 
75;  indifference  to  the  Greeks  and 
Romans,  75;  love  for  Sir  Walter 
Scott’s  writings,  75;  interest  in 
heraldry  and  illuminations,  75; 
passion  for  hawking,  76 ; interest  of 
Edward  Alexander  in,  77 ; attempts 
in  literary  compositions,  78;  con- 
tributions to  the  “Historic  Times,” 
78;  “Rome  in  1849,”  78;  “Obser- 
vations on  Heraldry,”  79;  political 
and  religious  opinions  of  relations 
of,  80;  relations  with  the  Rev. 
James  Bardsley,  80-82;  inquiries 
into  German  neology,  82;  ceases  to 
be  a Protestant,  83;  influence  of 
Sir  Walter  Scott  on,  83;  influence 
of  Mr.  Uttlev  on,  86;  first  visit  to 
London  in  1851,  88;  first  impres- 
sions of  London.  88;  impressions  of 
the  Great  Exhibition,  89 ; resolution 
never  to  go  to  London  again,  90; 
reasons  for  breaking  this  resolution, 
90;  love  of  reading  a hindrance  to 
classical  studies,  91;  Dr.  Butler’s 


concern  about  his  success  at  Oxford 
92 ; inward  determination  not  to  go 
to  Oxford,  93 ; is  placed  with  a 
tutor  in  Brighton,  94;  placed  with 
a tutor  in  Yorkshire,  94;  unpleasant 
relations  with  tutor,  94,  95;  disas- 
trous effect  of  tutor’s  intellectual 
influence,  95 ; love  for  Byron,  Shel- 
ley, Tennyson,  and  other  modern 
authors,  95;  private  readings,  95; 
declares  his  inability  to  sign  the 
Thirty-Nine  Articles,  99;  education 
comes  suddenly  to  a standstill,  99 ; 
choice  of  a profession,  100;  love  of 
literature  and  art,  100;  decision  to 
make  trial  of  both,  101 ; equestrian 
tour,  102;  first  impressions  of  Win- 
dermere, 102;  studies  art  under 
J.  P.  Pettitt,  104;  ascent  of  Skid- 
daw,  104;  his  horse  Tuft,  104;  his 
three  passions,  107;  visit  in  York- 
shire, 108;  first  boating  on  Loch 
Awe,  108 ; love  for  Loch  Awe,  109 ; 
first  sight  of  Ulva,  111;  return 
voyage  to  Oban,  111;  experiences 
in  the  West  Highlands,  112;  begins 
to  keep  a journal,  113;  self-training, 
113;  attempts  in  periodical  litera- 
ture, 114 ; advantage  of  attempts  at 
versification,  114;  practical  studies 
in  art,  115;  beginning  of  Mr.  Rus- 
kin’s  influence,  115;  accepts  com- 
mission in  the  militia,  117 ; second 
visit  to  London,  124;  again  studies 
with  Mr.  Pettitt,  125;  acquaintance 
with  R.  W.  Mackay,  131;  acquaint- 
ance with  the  Constable  family  and 
C.  R.  Leslie,  133,  134,  141,*  142; 
mistaken  admiration  for  minute  de- 
tail, 134;  projected  journey  to  Egypt, 
135 ; acquaintance  with  Bonomi  and 
Samuel  Sharpe,  135,  136;  visit  to 
Rogers,  138 ; acquaintance  with 
Watkiss  Lloyd,  Landseer,  Harding, 
and  Richard  Doyle,  142-146;  some 
of  his  relatives  emigrate  to  New 
Zealand,  152;  resigns  commission  in 
the  militia,  157 ; work  from  Nature, 
158;  revisits  Loch  Awe,  159;  ob- 
serves coldness  in  friends,  161 ; pub- 
lishes “ The  Isles  of  Loch  Awe  and 


INDEX. 


583 


other  Poems,”  164 ; their  sale,  164 ; 
advice  to  poets,  164  ; abandons  verse, 
166 ; visit  to  Paris  in  1855,  167 ; 
experiences  in  Paris,  167-180 ; meets 
Eugenie  Gindriez,  180;  specialties 
in  painting,  181;  projected  voyage 
on  the  Loire,  182;  is  called  back  to 
England,  183;  value  of  the  French 
language  to,  183;  first  encampment 
in  Lancashire,  184;  value  of  encamp- 
ing, 184;  acquaintance  with  Sir 
James  Kay  Shuttleworth,  187,  188; 
visits  homes  of  his  forefathers,  190; 
expedition  to  the  Highlands  in 
1857,  195;  value  of  camp-life,  196; 
description  of  camp,  197;  dread  of 
marriage,  and  reasons  for  it,  203, 
204;  decides  to  propose  to  Mdlle. 
Gindriez,  208;  he  is  accepted,  209; 
preparations  for  marriage,  210;  his 
marriage,  212;  wedding  journey, 
213;  domestic  life  at  Innistrynich, 
219-228;  money  matters,  229-232; 
beginning  of  artistic  career,  233- 
237 ; influenced  by  the  Pre-Raphael- 
ites, 233;  first  journey  to  France 
after  his  marriage,  238-246;  ac- 
quaintance with  Mr.  Calderon,  245; 
birth  of  son,  248;  love  of  boating, 
263;  project  of  farming,  266-269; 
forms  partnership  with  his  father-in- 
law,  269 ; left  at  Sens,  270-286 ; life 
at  Prd-Charmoy,  287-322;  strong 
love  of  etching,  290;  appointed  art- 
critic  to  the  “ Saturday  Review,” 
292;  instruction  of  his  children, 
299,  300 ; visit  to  Paris,  302 ; letters 
to  his  wife  from  London,  303-322; 
serious  illness,  307 ; increasing  in- 
terest in  languages,  315;  “ Wender- 
holme,”  319,  323,  344;  acquaintance 
with  leading  French  artists,  323; 
study  of  animals,  323;  invents 
new  kind  of  transparent  etching 
ground,  324;  resigns  position  on 
the  “Saturday  Review,”  328;  is 
joined  by  his  wife  at  Amiens,  329 ; 
nervous  seizure,  330 ; publication 
of  “Etching  and  Etchers,”  333; 
growing  reputation  in  America,  342; 
moves  into  “La  Tuilerie,”  349,  355; 


love  of  order,  351;  the  “Portfolio,” 
351;  second  volume  of  “Wender- 
holme,”  353;  the  Franco-Prussian 
War,  359;  serious  nervousness  of, 
372 ; beginning  of  success  in  America, 
374;  association  of  his  wife  in  the 
work  of,  375 ; love  for  dumb  crea- 
tures, 376 ; acquaintance  with  Sidney 
Colvin,  378 ; care  of  his  children, 
381;  experiments  in  painting  and 
etching,  383;  important  resolves, 
384;  the  “Intellectual  Life,”  362, 
370,  373-378;  rules  for  his  own 
guidance,  390 ; letter  from  Miss  May 
Alcott,  391 ; journey  to  England,  395 ; 
“ Modern  Frenchmen,”  406 ; “ Life  of 
Turner,”  408;  “ Marmorne,”  408; 
“ the  first  prose  writer  of  his  time,” 
409 ; visit  to  the  Paris  International 
Exhibition,  411;  becomes  a candi- 
date for  the  Watson-Gordon  Chair 
of  Fine  Arts  in  Edinburgh,  423 ; un- 
fair attack  of  the  “Autunois”  on, 
423;  second  edition  of  “Etching 
and  Etchers,”  429;  the  “Graphic 
Arts,”  431,  437,  439-443;  “Human 
Intercourse,”  449;  receives  decora- 
tion and  title  of  Officier  d’Acad^mie, 
454;  death  of  Miss  Susan  Hamerton, 
461;  plans  for  “Landscape,”  469; 
ready  sympathy  for  authors  and 
artists,  480;  begins  his  autobiog- 
raphy, 488 ; “ Imagination  in  Land- 
scape Painting,  490;  “Life  of  Tur- 
ner,” 486,  491;  voyage  on  the 
Saone,  495 ; arrested  as  a spy,  497 ; 
“ Man  in  Art  ” begun,  504;  suicide 
of  his  son  Richard,  506 ; marriage  of 
his  daughter  Mary,  511;  his  relig- 
ious belief,  522;  “French  and  Eng- 
lish,” 527 ; decides  to  live  near  Paris, 
533;  degree  of  LL.D.  conferred  on, 
557;  visit  to  England,  562;  symp- 
toms of  heart  trouble,  568;  sudden 
death  of,  575. 

Hamerton,  Mrs.  Philip  Gilbert,  see 
Gindriez , Eugenie. 

Hamerton,  Sir  Richard  de,  190,  192. 

Hamerton,  Richard,  301,  320,385,  431, 
432,  438,  439, 441,  442,  445,  452,  454, 
457,  458,  460,  461,  463, 464,  465, 469, 


584 


INDEX. 


470,  476,  477,  478, 480,  482, 488,  500, 
504,  505,  506,  507,  508,  530. 

Hamerton,  Sir  Stephen,  89,  191,  192. 

Hamerton,  Stephen,  301,  309,  397, 
415,  423,  452,  470,  471,  477,  480, 

488,  493,  492,  498,  500,  504,  509, 

532,  556,  560,  566,  567. 

Hamerton,  Susan,  239;  prejudice 
against  Mrs.  Philip  Gilbert  Hamer- 
ton, 239,  242,  245,  258;  change  in 
feeling  toward  her  niece,  265,  267, 
281,  284,  288,  290,  302,  306,  309, 

341,  342,  348,  355,  367,  375,  378, 

399,  409,  423,  435,  439,458,  459, 
460-462. 

Hamerton,  Thomas,  of  Todmorden, 
231,  241,  246,  251,  288, 339,  347,  388. 

Hamerton,  Mrs.  Thomas,  280. 

Hammerton,  John,  description  of,  513; 
courtship,  5;  letter  to  Mrs.  Cocker, 
5;  marriage  to  Anne  Cocker,  7; 
premature  death  of  wife,  7;  effect 
of  wife’s  death  upon,  10;  law-prac- 
tice of,  10 ; falls  into  degraded  liv- 
ing, 11-13;  tour  in  Wales,  21-25; 
son’s  lack  of  confidence  in,  26 ; calls 
his  son  home,  27 ; cruelty  of,  28-37 ; 
death  of,  37 ; funeral  of,  38. 

Hampton  Court  Palace,  398. 

Handsley,  Mr.,  122,  272,  462,  534. 

Handsley,  Mrs.,  462,  463. 

Hanoteau,  M.,  the  painter,  394. 

Harding,  F.  C.,  144. 

Harrison,  Frederick,  563. 

Haslemere,  371. 

Havre,  275. 

Hawking,  76. 

Hellifield  Peel,  16,  190;  history  of, 
192 ; nearness  to  Hollings,  193,  463, 
500. 

Helliwell,  Young,  197. 

Hemmel  Park,  22. 

Henry  VIII.,  89, 190. 

Heraldry,  Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton’s 
interest  in,  75;  observations  on,  79. 

Herkomer,  Hubert,  198,  427. 

Heseltine,  J.  P.,  352. 

Hinde,  Mrs.  Anne,  letter  from  Mr. 
Hammerton  to,  7,  376. 

Hinde,  Annie,  399,  435,  438,  439,  460, 
461,  462. 


Hinde,  Ben,  378,  399,  435,  438,  461, 
462,  501. 

Hinde,  Rev.  Thomas,  8,  41,  152,  378. 
“Historic  Times,”  the,  Philip  Gilbert 
Hamerton’s  contributions  to,  78. 
Hodgson,  Mr.,  305. 

Hollins,  21,  71,  72,  156,  183, 193,  461, 
462. 

Hollyer,  F.,  515. 

Hook,  J.  C.,  352. 

Hook,  Thomas,  108. 

Hooker,  Sir  John,  436. 

Hopwood  Hall,  70,  152. 

Hotel  de  Ville,  ball  at,  168. 
Howard-Tripp,  Mr.,  467. 

Hugo,  Victor,  450. 

“ Human  Intercourse,”  242,  404,  449, 
452,  471,  478,  481,  482. 

Hunt,  Alfred  W.,  421,  427,  435,  451. 
Hunt,  Holman,  326,  352,  383,  559. 
Hurstwood,  159. 

Hyde  Park,  27. 


I. 

Illuminations,  Philip  Gilbert 
Hamerton’s  interest  in,  75. 

“ Illustrated  London  News,”  the,  543, 

Innistrynich,  110,  203;  Philip  Gilbert 
Hamerton  prepares  house  for  his 
bride  at,  211;  his  domestic  life  at, 
219-228;  he  gives  up  residence  at, 
274 ; his  love  for,  284 ; new  owner  of, 
387. 

“ Intellectual  life,”  the,  362,  370,  373, 
374,  375,  376,  377,  378,  449,  482. 

“ International  Review,”  the,  372,  415. 

Inverary,  108,  196,  203. 

“ Imagination  in  Landscape  Painting,” 
490. 

“Isles  of  Loch  Awe,”  the,  publication 
of,  164;  sale  of,  164;  subsequent 
history  of,  165 ; failure  of,  166,  257, 
554. 

Ivy  Cottage,  27,  31,  33. 


J. 

Jaccaci,  Mr.,  583,  564,  568,  574. 
Jacque,  Charles,  244. 
Jacquemart,  M.,  323,  431,  442. 


INDEX. 


585 


Jaequemond,  Victor,  346,  389. 
James,  H.,  436. 

Jobert,  M.,  556. 

Juan,  M.,  432. 

“Jumps,  The,”  242,  260,  274,  280. 
Jungfrau,  the,  283. 

Jusserand,  M.,  519. 


K. 

Keats,  John,  86. 

Kensington  Museum,  437. 

Keppel,  Mr.,  561. 

Keswick,  102,  104. 

Kew,  303,  304,  333,  342,  435. 

Kew  Gardens,  436. 

Kilchurn,  ruin  of,  109,  110,  223,  493. 
Kingston-on-Thames,  395,  396,  433, 
466,  534. 

Knapdale,  400,  434,  439. 

Knoll,  Elias  de,  191. 

Knoll,  Katherine  de,  191. 

Knoll,  Reginald  de,  191. 

Knottingly,  398. 

Kornprobst,  Captain,  495. 


L. 

LABOUCHfeRE,  M.,  565. 

Laisy,  387. 

Lalanne,  M.,  323,  352,  355. 

Lamartine,  248. 

Lamont,  Laird  of,  196. 

Lancashire,  Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton’s 
first  encampment  in,  184;  scheme 
for  a pictorial  illustration  of,  186; 
124,  540. 

Lancashire  Exhibition,  187. 

Landelle,  323. 

“Landscape  in  Art,”  469,  471,  472, 
480,  481,  483,  484,  485. 

Landseer,  Sir  Edwin,  111,  143,  144, 
311. 

Laneside,  4. 

Laroche,  520. 

Laurens,  Jean  Paul,  431,  531. 

Laurent,  M.,  500. 

Lausanne,  283. 

Lawrence,  Lord,  515,  516. 


Leeds,  462. 

Lefebvre,  Jules,  432. 

L4gouv£,  346. 

Legros,  M.,  352,  427. 

Leighton,  Sir  Frederick,  89,  306,  311, 
352,  383,  427,  464,  562,  563. 

Leitch,  William,  116. 

Leopold,  Prince,  132. 

Leslie,  C.  R.,  133;  admiration  for 
Constable,  133;  acquaintance  with 
Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton,  133,  138; 
“The  Rape  of  the  Lock,”  140;  his 
family,  141,  244,  294,  297. 

Leslie,  George,  141,  295,  305,  352. 

Leslie,  Robert,  141,  563. 

Lewes,  G.  H.,  294,  297,  312,  313,  334, 
335,  370,  371,  372, 400,  409,  417,  418, 
419,  486. 

Lewes,  Mrs.  G.  H.,  371,  372. 

Lewis,  John,  135. 

Lhermitte,  415. 

“ Life  of  Turner,”  389,  408,  428,  486, 
491. 

Literary  composition,  Philip  Gilbert 
Hamerton’s  early  attempts  in,  78. 

Lloyd,  Watkiss,  142;  description  of, 
142, 143,  295,  352. 

Loch  Awe,  108;  Philip  Gilbert  Hamer- 
ton’s first  boating  on,  108;  his  love 
for,  109 ; he  revisits,  159 ; he  encamps 
on  island  in,  195,  196;  description 
of,  200;  numerous  legends  of,  219, 
366,  542. 

Lochaweside,  197. 

Loch  Etive,  110. 

Loch  Fyue,  108,  196. 

Loch  Katrine,  107. 

Loch  Lomond,  107. 

Loch  na  Keal,  111. 

Lockhart,  W.  E.,  417,  418,  427. 

Lockyer,  Norman,  439. 

Loire,  the,  182. 

London,  88;  Philip  Gilbert  Hamer- 
ton’s first  impressions  of,  88;  reso- 
lution never  to  visit  it  again,  90; 
reasons  for  breaking  this  resolution, 
90;  his  second  visit  to,  124,  399. 

Longfellow,  Henry  Wadsworth,  554. 

“Longman’s  Magazine,”  486,  499. 

Lons-le-Saunier,  372. 

Lome,  110. 


586 


INDEX. 


Louis  Napoleon,  Emperor,  168. 
Louvre,  the,  182,  233,  441,  442. 
Lowell,  James  Russell,  436. 

Loyson,  l’Abbe,  556. 

Loyson,  Hyacinthe,  556. 

Lucerne,  283,  550,  567. 

Luxembourg,  the  Museum  of  the,  244. 
Luzy,  511. 

Lyons,  473,  475. 

Lytton,  Bulwer,  264. 

Lyulph’s  Tower,  105. 

M. 

Macon,  288,  445,  452,  498,  502. 
Macgregor,  Mr.,  567. 

Mackay,  R.  W.,  Philip  Gilbert  Hamer- 
ton’s  acquaintance  with,  131;  his 
learning  and  accomplishments,  131; 
his  chief  pursuit,  132;  his  qualities 
as  a writer,  132,  244,  261,  294,  295 

297. 

Mackay,  Mrs.  R.  W.,  244,  261. 
Macmillan,  Messrs.,  377,  429,  471, 490, 
501,  518,  545,  548,  549. 

Macmillan,  Alexander,  280,  282,  293, 

298,  311,  312,  333,  372,  386,  398, 
400,  401,  434,  436,  437,  501,  550. 

Macmillan,  Mrs.,  398,  400,  434,  546. 
Macmillan,  Frederick,  436,  548. 
Macmillan,  George  A.,  436. 
“Macmillan’s  Magazine,’’  282. 
Macorquodale,  Donald,  388. 
MacWhirter,  J.,  427. 
Madier-de-Montjan,  239. 

“ Magazine  of  Art,”  515. 

Manchester,  80,  280. 

Manchester  Art  Treasures,  186. 
Manchester  Museum,  the,  429. 
Manesse,  H.,  503,  530. 

Manesse,  Madame  H.,  530. 

“Man  in  Art,”  504,  513,  516,  545, 
548. 

Mareuil-Marly,  543. 

Mariller,  M.,  296. 

Marks,  H.  S.,  297,  305,  352,  427. 
Marly,  543. 

“ Marmorne,”  397,  408,  441. 
Marseilles,  474,  475,  482. 

Martial,  M.,  352. 

Martin,  John,  126. 


Martineau,  Miss,  136. 

Mas,  M.,  457. 

Mason,  G.,  352. 

Masson,  Professor,  421. 

Mathieu,  M.,  494. 

Mead,  149 ; description  of,  149. 
Meissonier  Exhibition,  the,  551. 
Melun,  543. 

Menai,  24. 

Mer  de  Glace,  289. 

Middle  Ages,  the,  Philip  Gilbert 
Hamerton’s  interest  in,  75. 

Mill,  John  Stuart,  346,  474. 

Millais,  Sir  John,  89,  245,  259,  305, 
352,  427,  559. 

Millet,  233. 

Millet-Robinet,  M.,  266. 
Millet-Robinet,  Madame,  266. 

Milne,  Abram,  272. 

Milne,  Henry,  272,  409. 

Modern  Authors,  Philip  Gilbert  Ham- 
erton’s love  for,  95. 

“Modern  Frenchmen,”  406,  408,  417, 
419. 

Mohl,  Madame,  171,  413. 

Moltere,  96. 

Monjeu,  Chateau.de,  442. 

Mont  Beuvray,  346,  358,  379,  534. 
Mont  Blanc,  283,  492. 

Montelimart,  475. 

Montgomery,  Robert,  439. 
Montmajour,  272. 

Mont  Pilatus,  283. 

Mont  Vaterien,  544,  560. 

Morven,  hills  of,  110. 

Moore,  Edward,  68;  natural  accom- 
plishments of,  69;  death  of,  69. 
Moore,  Thomas,  96. 

Mostyn,  Sir  Pyers,  22. 

Muir,  Mr.  387. 

Mull,  cliffs  of,  111. 

Mliller,  Max,  315. 

Munkacsv,  415,  441. 

Mus£e  du  Mobilier  National,  531. 


N. 

Nantes,  Count  Francis  de,  211,  267. 
Napoleon  I.,  175. 

Napoleon  III.,  175,  360. 


INDEX. 


587 


National  Gallery,  the,  334,  398,  437, 
440,  511,  513! 

Neufchatel,  283. 

Newville,  523. 

Newcome,  Colonel,  168. 

“ New  Palette,”  a,  352. 

Newton,  A.  P.  352. 

Nilsson,  Christine,  115. 

Nimes,  272,  475. 

Nogent-sur-Marne,  543. 

Norfolk,  199. 

Norlay,  492. 

Nutfield  House,  465. 


O. 

Oban,  110;  Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton’s 
return  trip  to,  111;  197. 
“Observations  on  Heraldry,”  79. 
Oldham,  4. 

Olive,  Professor,  427,  435,  545. 
Orange,  475. 

Orchardson,  W.  Q.,  427. 

Orleans,  465. 

Orr,  Mrs.  Sutherland,  464. 

Ounard,  Victor,  175. 

Oxford  University,  92;  Philip  Gilbert 
Hamerton’s  inward  determination 
not  to  go  to,  93. 


P. 

Padiham,  119. 

Page,  Walter  H.,  543. 

“ Painting  in  France,”  323. 

“Painter’s  Camp  in  the  Highlands,” 
196,  220;  description  of,  221,  235, 
237,  259 ; a success,  293 ; 366,  372. 
373,  378. 

Palgrave,  Francis,  141,  292,  352. 
Palgrave,  Mrs.,  296. 

“ Pall  Mall  Gazette,”  the,  344,  524. 
Palmer,  A.  H.,  vi,  513. 

Palmer,  Henry,  162. 

Palmer,  Samuel,  103,  352,  373,  374, 
376,  383,  385,  401,  402,  408,  427, 
439,  513. 

Palmer,  Mrs.  Samuel,  402,  439. 
“Paris,”  471. 


Paris,  167,  397,  439,  441,  456,  466, 488, 
489,  496,  512,  514,  520,  529,  533, 
542,  543,  547,  550,  560,  565,  574. 
Paris  Exhibition  of  1867,  302. 
“Parisian  Houses,”  556. 

Paris  International  Exhibition,  411. 
Paris  Salon,  the,  395,  441,  442,  496. 
Passv,  512,  536. 

Pattison,  Mark,  379,  380,  427,  522. 
Pattison,  Mrs.  Mark  (Lady  Dilke), 
352,  379,  380. 

Peabody,  Mr.,  515. 

Pearce,  Stephen,  293,  294,  297,  308, 
313. 

Pelletier,  M.,  marriage  to  Caroline 
Gindriez,  319;  341,  368,  372,  405, 
472,  475,  477,  480,  482,  493,  496 
506,  510,  511,  530,  541,  543. 
Pelletier,  Caroline,  see  Gindriez , Caro- 
line. 

Pelletier,  Jeanne,  556, 

Pelletier,  Maurice,  470,  491,  498. 
Pelouse  Exhibition,  the,  547. 

Pendle  Hill,  120. 

Pennell,  Joseph,  494,  495,  497,  514. 
Penrhyn  Castle,  23. 

Perrand,  Monseigneur,  425,  426. 
Penrith,  105. 

Perreyve,  l’Abbe,  425. 

Peterborough,  398. 

Pettitt,  J.  P.,  Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton 
studies  with,  104,  125;  description 
of,  126;  150,  199,  261,  531. 

“ Photographic  Quarterly,”  the,  514. 
Pickering,  Mr.,  424,  426,  441. 

“ Pictures  from  the  Highlands,”  235. 
Pierrefonds,  547. 

Pierrelatte,  473. 

Plumpton,  Isabel,  191. 

Plumpton,  Sir  William,  191. 

Pochon,  M.,  476,  479. 

Pochon,  Madame,  476,  479. 

Poets,  geniality  in,  139. 

Pontarlier,  283. 

Pont  d’l^na,  the,  545. 

Pont  du  Gard,  the,  272. 

Pontefract,  462. 

Pont  Vert,  524. 

Port  d’Ouroux,  445. 

“Portfolio,”  the,  351,  353,  355,  367, 
383,  401,  403,  414,420,  430,  431,  439, 


588 


INDEX. 


443,  453,  456,  471,  480,  486,503,512, 
513,  514,  523,  524,  533,  543,  548, 
549,  551,  552,  553,  554,  555,  558, 
574. 

Port  Sonachan,  252. 

Potter,  Paul,  307. 

Powers,  Rev.  H.,  364,  367,  392,  403. 

Poynter,  E.  J.,  351. 

Pr£-Charmoy,  73,  227,  271;  life  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton 
at,  287;  520,  534,  547. 

Pre-Raphaelites,  the,  influence  of,  on 
Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton,  233. 

Propert,  Lumsden,  352. 

Protais,  M.,  415. 


Q. 

“Quarterly  Review,”  the,  518. 
“Quest  of  Happiness,”  the,  540,  551, 
556,  570,  575. 


R. 

Raillard,  Madame  (senior),  514. 

Raillard,  Raoul,  316,  507,  511,  512, 
513,  514,  518,  527,  530,  532,  543, 
546,  547,  549,  550,  560,  561,  563, 
566,  569,  573. 

Raillard,  Madame,  see  Hamerton , 
Mary , Susan  Marguerite. 

Rajon,  Paul,  323,  352,  403,  412,  427, 
431,  432,  433,  500,  503. 

Ralston,  Mr.,  312,  398. 

Raws,  Mr.,  31. 

Rawson,  Captain,  H.,  526,  527. 

“ Reader,  The,”  375. 

R^camier,  Madame,  414. 

Redhill,  373,  401. 

Reedley  Lodge,  462. 

Regnault,  Henri,  418. 

Reid,  Sir  George,  v,  427,  555,  556,  557. 

Reid,  Lady  George,  v,  557. 

Rembrandt  etchings,  the,  298. 

Renan,  Ernest,  133,  522. 

“ R^publique  du  Morvan,”  le,  423, 
424. 

“ Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,”  the,  410. 

Rhone,  the,  272. 


Rhyl,  23,  Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton 
revisits,  160. 

Richmond  Park,  398. 

Roberts  Brothers,  282,  342,  370,  374, 
376,  377,  378,  390,  392,  394,  404,  410, 
441,  449,  481, 498,  501,  529,  540, 546, 
551,  554,  560. 

Robinson,  Mr.,  the  engraver,  134, 140, 
486. 

Rochdale,  4. 

Roche-Millay,  la,  511. 

Rodin,  August,  531. 

Rogers,  Samuel,  the  poet,  138 ; Philip 
Gilbert  Hamerton’s  visit  to,  138;  his 
home,  138;  description  of,  139. 

Romans,  the,  Philip  Gilbert  Hamer- 
ton’s indifference  to,  75. 

Rome,  283. 

Rome,  Church  of,  Protestant  contro- 
versy with,  81. 

“ Rome  in  1849,”  78. 

Rossetti,  W.  M.,  293,  305,  351. 

Ross,  Sir  James,  108. 

Rouen,  465. 

Roumieu,  272. 

“ Round  my  House,”  285,  358,  359 
362,  389,  404,  426. 

Rowan,  Mrs.,  150. 

Rowan,  Frederica,  150. 

Royal  Acadamy,  the,  89. 

Royal  Academy  Exhibition,  the,  124. 

Ruskin,  John,  115;  influence  on  Philip 
Gilbert  Hamerton,  116;  admiration 
for  Turner,  133;  cause  of  his  suc- 
cess, 140;  value  of  work  from 
Nature,  199,  346. 

Ruvsdael,  as  etcher,  307. 

Rydal  Water,  104. 

S. 

Sagar,  Mr.,  450,  465. 

St.  Bon,  277. 

St.  Cloud,  545,  546. 

St.  Germain,  543. 

St.  Linger,  511. 

St.  Nazaire,  517. 

St.  Nizier,  511. 

St.  Remy,  543. 

Saint  Victor,  M.  de,  442. 

Saint  Victor,  Madame  de,  442. 


INDEX. 


589 


Sainte-Beuve,  346. 

Salan,  111. 

Salutation  Hotel,  41. 

Salvator,  307. 

Saone,  the,  184,  429,  441,  443,  444, 
445,  452,  454,  470,  491,  494,  496, 
502;  “ Saturday  Review,”  the, 

Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton  appointed 
art  critic  to,  292 ; he  resigns  his  posi- 
tion on,  323,  328,  344,  362,  415. 

Scarborough,  70. 

Scarlett,  General,  189. 

Schmitt,  M.,  343,  467,  501,  502,  533. 

Scholey,  Mr.,  171. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  12,  49,  51;  love  of 
Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton  for  writings 
of,  75,  95;  influence  of,  83,  138. 

Scott,  W.  B.,  352. 

Scribner,  Mr.,  568,  574. 

“ Scribner’s  Magazine,”  551,  552,  559> 
562,  570,  573. 

Scribner’s  Sons,  Charles,  551, 559,  562, 
573,  574. 

Seeley,  Professor,  417,  419,  427,  485, 
558. 

Seeley,  Richmond,  311,  316,  343,  367, 
385,  395,  398,  406,  407,  417,  419,  420, 
421,  427,  431,  433,  437,  439,  441,  442, 
443,  446,  451,  453,  456,  464,  465,  466, 
467,  470,  472,  478,  480,  483,  485,  486 
490,  491,  494,  498,  500,  501,  503,  507, 
512,  513,  522,  523,  531,  533,  537,  542, 
546,  547,  548,  549,  551,  552,555,558, 
560,  564,  566,  568,  569,  574. 

Seeley,  Mrs.  Richmond,  407,  431,  433, 
464,  465,  500,  513,  548,  549,  569. 

“ Segrave,  Adolphus,”  409 

Sella,  Signor,  264. 

Sens,  life  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Philip  Gil- 
bert Hamerton  at,  270-286;  441, 
534,  569. 

Shakespeare,  William,  139. 

Sharpe,  Dr.  Samuel,  61,  136. 

Shaw,  4,  5 ; dislike  of  Philip  Gilbert 
Hamerton  for,  39. 

Shaw,  Richard,  148. 

Shaw,  William,  147. 

Shelley,  Percy  Bysshe,  Philip  Gilbert 
Hamerton’s  love  for,  95. 

Short,  Frank,  516. 


Shuttleworth,  Sir  James  Kaj*,  186; 

description  of,  187,  188. 

Siddons,  Mrs.,  138. 

Simcox,  G.  A.,  352. 

Skiddaw,  ascent  of,  104. 

Skipton  Castle,  192. 

Slaidburn,  190. 

Smith,  Mrs.  Carmichael,  170. 

Smith,  Jane,  15. 

Society  Eduenne,  the,  346. 

Society  of  Illustrators,  558,  561. 

Sound  of  Mull,  110. 

South  Kensington  Museum,  the,  334. 
Souverain,  M.,  247,  249. 

Spencer,  Edmund,  158. 

Spielman,  Mr.,  515. 

Stanley,  Dean,  522. 

Stephens,  F.  G.,  352,  464,  484. 
Stevenson,  R.  A.  M.,  564. 

Stevenson,  R.  L.,  v,  129,  353,  378,  411, 
415,  416,  421,  444, 448,  449,  484, 485, 
550,  564. 

Stewart,  Alexander,  557. 

“ Stoneven,  L.  S.,”  353. 

Stothard,  138. 

Storey,  G.  A.,  383. 

“Summer  Voyage  on  the  River 
Saone,”  a,  494,  498,  500. 

Suresnes,  514. 

Surrey,  371. 

“ Sylvan  Year,”  the,  373. 

Symonds,  J.  A.,  448. 


T. 

Taixe,  346. 

Talfourd,  140. 

Tarascon,  475. 

Tarbet,  108. 

Taylor,  Miss,  474. 

Taylor,  Tom,  313,  351. 

Taymouth  Castle,  195. 

Tavernay,  383. 

“ Technical  Notes,”  352. 

“ Temps,”  the,  410,  524,  526. 
Tennyson,  Alfred,  Lord,  Philip  Gil- 
bert Hamerton’s  love  for,  95,  136, 
165;  293,  295,  335,336,  338,  346, 
371,  547,  548. 

Ternin,  the,  288. 


590 


INDEX. 


Terrasse  de  Meudon,  la,  543. 

Testa,  Signor,  45. 

Thackeray,  William  Makepeace,  171; 
his  family,  171. 

Thierry,  Augustine,  419. 

Thirty-Nine  Articles,  the,  Philip  Gil- 
bert Hamerton  declares  his  inability 
to  sign,  99. 

Thorwaldsen,  the  sculptor,  150. 

“ Thoughts  about  Art,”  282,  370, 
374. 

“ Thursday,”  220,  224,  290,  462,  540, 
541. 

Tichborne,  Roger,  118. 

Tillier,  Claude,  225. 

“Times,”  the,  404. 

Tissot,  James,  561. 

Titian,  97. 

Todmorden,  241,  333. 

Toulon-sur-Arroux,  511. 

Tours,  369. 

Tournus,  445. 

Tower  of  London,  89. 

Towneley  family,  the,  antiquity  of, 
14;  76. 

Towneley,  Colonel,  117;  description 
of,  118;  168. 

Towneley  Park,  14,  72. 

Towton  Field,  192. 

Trelacre,  22. 

Tremplier,  M.,  423,  424,  425,  426. 

Troyon,  233,  244,  467. 

“Truth,”  525,  526,  527. 

Turnbull,  Captain,  168,  170. 

Turner  Collection,  the,  213,  398. 

Turner,  J.  M.,  213,  386,  398,  402,  428, 
523. 

Turner  Room,  the,  428. 

Turner,  William,  116;  Ruskin’s  admi- 
ration for,  133,  136. 

“ Tuilerie,  la,”  348 ; 355, 475,  477,  479, 
499,  531. 

Twickenham,  398. 


U. 

Ulleswater,  105. 

Ulra,  first  right  of,  111. 

“ Unknown  River,”  the,  291,  352,  374. 
Uttley,  Mr.,  84;  an  atheist,  85;  re- 


markable character,  85 ; influence 
on  Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton,  86; 
religious  opinions  of,  86. 


V. 

Vale  op  St.  John,  104. 

Valence,  473,  475. 

Varolles,  319,  342. 

Vendome,  369,  372. 

Verdun,  502. 

Vernet,  Horace,  376. 

Veron,  Eugene,  415. 

Vesinet,  le,  543. 

Vesure,  the,  288, 

Veuillot,  Louis,  346. 

Vevrassat,  M.,  352. 

Vibert,  Madame,  524. 

Victor  Emmanuel,  King,  168. 

“ Victorian  Era  of  English  Litera- 
ture,” the,  448. 

Vienna,  283,  473. 

Vierge,  Urrabieta,  546,  553,  565. 
Villaret,  272,  273. 

Ville  d’Avray,  543. 


W. 

Wakefield,  462. 

Walker,  Frederick,  305. 

Wallis,  Mr.,  310,  313. 

Waltner,  415. 

Walton-on-Thames,  307. 

Waring,  Mr.,  10. 

Watson-Gordon  Chair  of  Fine  Arts  in 
Edinburgh,  420. 

Watteau,  446. 

Watts,  G.  F.,  vi,  351,  383,  427,  515. 

“ Wenderholme,”  319,  323,  344, 
353,  355,  390,  394,  540. 

West  Lodge,  280,  281,  297,  298,  358, 
388. 

Westminster  Abbey,  89. 

“Westminster  Review,”  the,  114,  146. 
Whitaker,  Dr.,  68. 

Whitney,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  274. 
Wickenden,  R.  J.,  561. 

Wigglesworth  Hall,  190. 

Wilkie,  307. 


INDEX. 


591 


William  IV.,  12. 

Williams,  Miss,  478,  560. 
Windermere,  first  sight  of,  102;  Philip 
Gilbert  Hamerton’s  impressions  of, 
102. 

Wolff,  Dr.,  61. 

Woodward,  Mr.,  294,  297. 

Woolner,  Thomas,  293,  297,  336,  338, 
352,  400,  413,  421,  426,  427,  438. 
Woolner,  Mrs.  Thomas,  437. 
Wordsworth,  William,  105,  485. 
Wyld,  William,  the  painter,  172,  182, 
263,  279,  376,  383,  422,  482. 


Y. 

“Yacht,  le,”  499,  502. 
York,  462. 

Yorkshire,  108,  409. 
Yonne,  the  river,  277. 


Z. 


Zucchero,  446. 

Zurich  University,  565. 


MR.  HAMERTON’S  WORKS 


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love  of  nature,  the  same  appreciation  of  the  beautiful,  the  same  refinement  that  mark  ‘ The 
Unknown  River’  and  ‘A  Painter’s  Camp;  * and  there  are  not  wanting  evidences  of  the  wide 
reading,  the  proofs  of  culture  and  earnestness  that  are  conspicuous  iu  ‘ Intellectual  Life.*  **  -» 
Cincinnati , O.,  Times. 


3 


MR.  HA MERT ON'S  WORKS. 


FRENCH  AND  ENGLISH:  A Comparison.  Square  12010. 

Price  $ 2.00 . 

“ Mr.  Hamerton’s  comparison  of  the  two  nations  follows  a very  methodical  order.  Ho 
compares  them,  step  by  step,  in  reference  to  education,  patriotism,  politics,  religion,  virtues, 
customs,  and  society.  The  chapters  on  the  virtues  — which  are  philosophically  classified 
under  the  heads  of  truth,  justice,  purity,  temperance,  thrift,  cleanliness,  and  courage  — 
abound  in  suggestive  observations.”  — Academy. 

“A  most  interesting  and  instructive  work.  Mr.  Hamerton  has  lived  long  in  France;  and 
he  is  not  only  a close  observer,  but  a thinker.  . . . Like  everything  that  come/ from  his  pen, 
this  work  is  distinguished  by  a literary  style  of  remarkable  clearness  and  grace,  while  in  sub- 
stance it  is  equally  distinguished  by  the  sound  basis  of  its  criticisms  in  experience  and  their 
general  impartiality.”  — The  Scotsman. 

“ As  its  title  indicates,  it  is  in  the  nature  of  a comparison  ; but  while  its  plan  accommodates 
itself  to  this  indication,  it  makes  no  attempt  to  do  so  stiffly.  On  the  contrary,  its  treatment 
is  delightfully  free  and  easy.  The  scope  of  the  work  may  be  gathered  from  the  fact  that  the 
comparison  of  the  two  peoples  refers  to  their  education,  patriotism,  politics,  religion,  virtues, 
custom,  society,  success,  and  variety,  — this  last  implying  their  diversity  as  peoples,  that  is, 
the  degrees  in  which  portions  of  them  vary  from  the  common  type.  But  this  enumeration 
utterly  fails  to  give  any  adequate  idea  of  the  intimate  knowledge,  the  multiplicity  of  details, 
the  shrei  id  observation  of  a multitude  of  matters,  and  the  kindly  criticism  of  a thousand 
points,  which  have  contributed  to  make  this  a most  readable  book.  The  subject  of  the  volume 
is  intrinsically  interesting,  but  it  is  rendered  additionally  so  by  the  graceful  and  easy  method  of 
its  presentation  There  is  everywhere  evidence  of  the  author’s  extensive  knowledge  of  litera- 
ture, and  his  close  observation  of  men,  institutions,  and  manners.  At  the  same  time,  the 
topics  which  come  within  his  range  are  of  the  highest  importance,  and  such  as  are  now  attracting 
the  widest  attention.  There  is  not  a dull  statement  nor  an  uninstructive  observation  in  the 
book,  and  in  it  Mr.  Hamerton  has  made  a valuable  addition  to  the  volumes  on  kindred 
subjects  with  which  he  has  already  delighted  readers.”  — Exchange . 


PARIS.  In  Old  and  Present  Times.  Profusely  illustrated  with 

woodcut  engravings  and  12  superb  full-page  etchings.  4to.  #6.50.  Library 
Edition  with  all  the  woodcuts.  8vo.  $3.00. 

“ It  is  neither  a history  of,  nor  a guide-book  to,  the  gay  and  giddy  French  capital,  although 
it  partakes  in  some  degree  of  the  nature  of  both;  but  it  is  a very  pleasant,  instructive  volume, 
brimful  of  information  about  the  famous  buildings,  parks,  squares,  and  places  of  Paris,  which 
those  who  have  seen  them,  as  well  as  those  who  have  not,  will  be  glad  to  have  described  by 
pen  and  pencil  in  so  attractive  and  convenient  a manner.  ...  He  invites  his  readers  to 
accompany  him  in  a lazy  boat-ride  around  the  city  ; and  during  the  progress  of  this  journey, 
he  points  out  the  different  historic  buildings  to  be  seen  from  the  water,  tells  the  story  con- 
nected with  them,  explains  their  architectural  details,  and  secures  the  excellent  engravings 
which  beautify  his  book.  . . . He  traces  with  historic  accuracy  the  erection,  decoration,  decay, 
and  restoration  of  those  magnificent  temples.  The  parks  and  gardens  and  the  streets  are 
treated  in  separate  chapters,  particular  attention  being  paid  to  landscape  effects,  drainage, 
paving,  etc.  The  book  is  written  in  a graceful  and  spirited  style ; it  is- handsomely  bound 
and  printed,  copiously  and  artistically  illustrated,  and  cannot  fail  to  be  a useful  and  instructive, 
as  well  as  ornamental,  addition  to  the  library.”  — Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

“ Paris  is  so  rich  in  historical  association,  so  full  of  important  buildings,  so  carefully 
planned  and  arranged,  so  brilliantly  decorated,  and  so  perfectly  cared  for  and  kept  up  — in 
short,  is  so  clearly  the  nearest  approach  yet  made  to  the  idea,  city,  — that  one  is  never  weary  of 
reading  about  it.  Mr.  Hamerton  knows  his  Paris  well,  her  history  and  her  aspect,  without 
being  so  narrow  in  his  exclusive  devotion  as  the  pure  Paris-lover  gets  to  be  ; and  he  is  a very 
observant  and  sagacious  judge  of  architectural  effects,  even  if  a little  too  catholic.  The  book 
is  in  nearly  all  respects  just  what  that  fortunate  person  needs  who  means  to  reside  in  Paris  a 
while,  with  leisure  to  study  it ; it  can  hardly  fail  to  give  him  generally  sound  notions  of  what 
the  famous  city  has  that  is  most  admirable  in  its  external  aspects.”  — N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 

4 


MR.  HA  MER  T ON’S  WORKS. 


A SUMMER  VOYAGE  ON  THE  RIVER  SAONE.  With 

152  illustrations  by  Joseph  Pennell  and  the  Author.  4to.  Cloth,  gilt.  Price 
£2.50. 

**  Mr.  Hamerton  has  written  his  book  in  the  easy  style  of  familiar  letters  addressed  to  Mr. 
Richmond  Seeley,  his  ‘friend  and  publisher.’  These  stand  in  the  place  of  chapters,  and 
allow  the  writer  greater  latitude  and  more  intimacy  in  the  treatment  of  his  subject.  The  voyage 
divided  itself  naturally  into  two  sections.  The  upper  part  of  the  river,  from  Corre  to  Chalons, 
was  navigated  in  a long,  narrow  barge,  called  a berrichon,  as  from  the  character  of  the  river 
and  the  lack  of  inns  a small  sailing-boat  would  have  been  objectionable.  From  Chfilons  to 
Lyons,  Mr.  Hamerton  descended  the  Saone,  with  his  son  and  nephew,  in  his  own  steel  cata- 
maran, the  Arar . The  first  part  of  the  book  is  full  of  anecdotes  of  the  travellers,  — their 
' Pilot,’  their  * Patron,’  their  domestic  arrangements  on  the  barge,  their  methods  of  killing 
time,  and  their  passages  of  diplomacy  and  courtesy  with  bargemen,  gendarmes,  and  other 
officials.  The  whole  history  of  their  difficulties  with  the  authorities  on  the  question  of  sketch- 
ing is  given  at  full  length.  . . . Four  maps  and  a hundred  and  forty-eight  pen-and-ink  draw- 
ings illustrate  the  expedition.  Of  these,  a hundred  and  two  are  original  drawings  by  Mr. 
Joseph  Pennell,  twenty-four  compositions  by  Mr.  Pennell  after  Mr.  Hamerton,  nineteen 
original  works  by  Mr.  Hamerton,  while  three  are  drawings  by  Mr.  Hamerton  afte.*  Messrs. 
Jules  Chevrier  and  J.  P.  Pettitt.  Mr.  Pennell’s  work,  as  might  be  expected,  shines  in  the 
qualities  of  elegance,  taste,  and  judicious  finish.  He  seems  to  have  surpassed  all  his  previous 
achievements  in  daintiness  of  style  and  fineness  of  workmanship  He  has  found  some  quaint 
compositions,  chosen  from  unusual  points  ol  view,  wherewith  to  illustrate  the  appearance  of 
the  river  seen  from  the  end  of  a gang  of  barges.”  — Athenceum. 


PORTFOLIO  PAPERS.  Square  1 21110.  Price  $2.00. 

“ Mr.  Hamerton  has  done  more  to  familiarize  reading  people  with  the  principles  and  meth. 
ods  of  art  than  any  other  writer.  Mr.  Ruskin’s  genius  gave  the  impulse  to  a wide-spread 
interest  in  art  years  ago ; and,  by  a very  happy  sequence,  Mr.  Hamerton  has  appeared  to  do 
the  secondary  work  of  education.  He  lacks  almost  entirely  Mr.  Ruskin’s  genius:  but  he 
possesses  in  large  measure  that  sound  judgment  which  Mr.  Ruskin  often  conspicuously  lacks, 
a thorough  knowledge  ot  his  subjects,  and  the  rare  ability  to  write  from  the  standpoint  of  his 
readers.  Mr.  Hamerton’s  great  quality  as  a teacher  has  been  this  ability  to  put  himself  in  the 
place  of  the  man  who  is  ignorant  of  art,  and  expound  to  him  in  the  simplest  fashion  things 
which  to  Mr.  Hamerton  himself  must  be  obvious  and  elementary.  In  this  volume,  Mr 
Hamerton  writes  interestingly  about  five  artists,  — Constable,  Etty,  Chintreuil,  Guignet,  and 
Goya.  The  volume  also  contains  * Notes  on  ./Esthetics,’  ‘ Essays,’  and  * Conversations.’ 
Among  the  subjects  which  appear  in  the  division  of  ‘ Essays  ’ are  ‘ Style,’  ‘ Soul  and  Matter 
in  the  Fine  Arts,’  ‘The  Nature  of  the  Fine  Arts,’  and  ‘Can  Science  Help  Art?’  On  all 
these  subjects  Mr.  Hamerton  is  thoroughly  at  home;  and  the  book  is,  on  the  whole,  th* 
utterance  of  a large-minded  and  catholic  critic  and  student.”  — Christian  Union. 


IMAGINATION  IN  LANDSCAPE  PAINTING.  With  many 

illustrations  and  etched  frontispiece.  i2mo.  Price  #2.00. 

“ The  late  Mr.  Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton’s  “ Imagination  in  Landscape  ” is  the  most  valu- 
able of  all  his  writings,  regarded  from  the  teacher’s  point  of  view;  for  it  deals  largely  with 
problems  which  must  be  encountered  in  the  education  of  children,  although  in  form  it  is  purely 
critical,  and  is  intended  for  the  painter  and  the  critic.  To  them  it  will  be  not  only  provocative 
of  thoughtj  but  of  enthusiasm ; for  the  whole  book  glows  with  the  author’s  affection  for  his 
art,  and  with  his  earnest  resolve  to  penetrate  its  secrets.  The  book  is  small,  but  it  contains 
twenty  essays  and  twenty-five  pictures,  examples  of  qualities  mentioned  in  the  text.  The  fron- 
tispiece is  a photogravure  after  Chattock’s  “ Footbridge  over  the  Wiley.”  — Saturday  Evening 
Gazette. 


5 


MR.  HA MERT ON'S  WORKS. 


CONTEMPORARY  FRENCH  PAINTERS.  An  Essay.  8vo. 

Cloth.  Full  gilt.  Price  #3.00.  Illustrated  with  the  following  16  photogravures 
after  eminent  French  artists  : — 


Dante  and  Beatrice 

Children  of  Edward  IV 

Death  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci 

Hunting  the  Wild  Goat 

The  Reapers 

The  Gardener 

Landscape  

Ploughing 

Amateur  of  Pictures 

The  Kennel 

The  First  Visit 

Before  the  Attack 

Return  of  the  Flock 

My  Eldest  Sister 

The  Prisoner 

The  Reading  Lesson 


Ary  Scheffer. 

Delaroche. 

Ingres. 

H.  Vernet. 

Robert. 

Hamon. 

Troy  on. 

R.  Bonheur . 

Meissonier. 

Decamps. 

Toulmouche. 

Protais. 

Jacque. 

Bouguereau. 

Gerdme. 

E.  Frlre . 


PAINTING  IN  FRANCE.  After  the  Decline  of  Classicism. 


An  Essay.  8vo.  Cloth.  Full  gilt.  Price  #3.00.  Illustrated  with  the  following 
14  photogravures  after  French  artists:  — 


The  Flower  . . . . 

The  Confession  . . . 

Dressing  for  the  Ball  . 
Saying  Grace  . . . 

The  Last  Friend  . . 
Fellah  Woman  . . . 

Lighting  the  Beacon  . 
Maiden  of  the  Abruzzi 
Little  Beggar  Girl  . . 

Parting 

Once  on  a Time  . . 

Study  of  Trees  . . . 

Deer  at  the  River  . . 

Highland  Ferry  . . 


Aubert. 

Tissot. 

De  Jonghe. 
Henriette  Browne. 
Janet  Lange. 
Landelle. 

Le  Poittevin. 
Jalabert. 

Brun, 

Compte  Calix. 
Lobrichon. 

Corot. 

Courbet. 

Otto  Weber. 


The  lamented  death  of  Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton  heightens  the  value  of  all  his  work,  and 
justifies  the  beauty  of  the  edition  of  “ Contemporary  French  Painters,”  if,  indeed,  there  be  any 
need  of  justifying  any  degree  of  luxury  when  bestowed  upon  the  work  of  a critic  so  conscien- 
tious, so  just,  so  well  equipped  for  his  work,  and  possessed  of  so  much  distinction.  At  a time 
when  a considerable  group  of  Englishmen,  tormented  by  the  fear  of  not  being  beautiful,  or  at 
least  novel  in  expression,  was  compassing  land  and  sea  to  find  one  new  preterite  or  some  thrice 
blessed  obsolete  compound  relic  of  the  Danish  invasion,  and  while  their  worshippers  were  deaf- 
ening all  readers  with  demands  for  reverence,  Mr.  Hamerton  made  himself  a style  in  which  the 
severest  of  critics  can  find  nothing  affected,  but  which  is  more  easily  recognizable  than  that  of  any 
of  his  painstaking  contemporaries.  Truth  was  the  main  interest  with  him,  and  style  for  truth’s 
sake  first,  and  afterwards  for  its  own ; and  so,  his  strength  not  being  dissipated  in  vanity  and 
frivolity,  was  felt  in  undiminished  force  by  the  reader.  In  “ Contemporary  French  Painters” 
his  subject  was  difficult,  because  it  brought  him  into  controversy  with  the  pupils  and  disciples 
of  many  of  the  artists  whom  he  criticised,  and  sometimes  he  discovered  that  he  had  made 
enemies  in  quarters  where  he  had  expected  approbation.  Nevertheless,  he  spoke  the  truth 
steadily,  and  gradually  place  was  made  for  him,  until  when  death  came  it  found  him  at  the 
head  of  his  profession,  and  especially  learned  in  French  art.  All  the  pictures  are  extraordinarily 
good.  One,  a landscape  by  Troyon,  is  simply  marvellous  in  the  luminosity  of  its  atmospheric 
effects-  This  book  is  printed  on  paper  which  would  have  contented  its  author,  and  the  plates 
are  on  paper  r.o  heavy  that  they  could  be  framed  if  desired.  '—Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

6 


MR.  HAMERTON'S  WORKS. 


MODERN  FRENCHMEN.  Five  Biographies : Victor  Jacque« 

mont,  Traveller  and  Naturalist ; Henri  Perrevve,  Ecclesiastic  and  Orator ; Frangois 
Rude,  Sculptor;  Jean  Jacques  Amp&re,  Historian,  Archaeologist,  and  Traveller; 
Henri  Regnault,  Painter  and  Patriot.  By  Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton.  Uni- 
form with  “ The  Intellectual  Life,”  &c.  Square  i2mo.  Price  #2.00. 

“ Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton  has  the  faculty  (not  common  to  all  authors)  of  making  every- 
thing he  touches  interesting.  Best  known  as  a writer  on  art,  his  works  upon  that  subject  have 
come  to  be  recognized  as  standards.  His  novels  and  essays  are  always  full  of  meat,  and  his 
works  generally  are  characterized  by  a fairness  and  impartiality  which  give  them  peculiar 
value.  His  latest  work,  ‘Modern  Frenchmen,’  is  made  up  of  five  biographies.”  — Boston 
Transcript. 

HUMAN  INTERCOURSE.  Square  i2mo.  Price  #2.00. 

“ He  has  the  art  of  presenting  to  our  minds  a hundred  paths  into  which  every  subject  opens. 
...  In  writing  about  ‘ Human  Intercourse,’  Mr.  Hamerton  has  the  always  significant  facts  of 
human  nature  to  deal  with,  — those  eternally  interesting  creatures,  men  and  women.  . . . 
Occasionally,  too,  there  are  sentences  that  suggest  by  their  felicity  the  rhythm  of  poetry.  Better 
than  all,  in  this,  as  in  every  one  of  Mr.  Hamerton’s  works,  we  feel  that  we  are  dealing  with 
a man  who,  besides  his  grace,  his  wit,  or  his  keen  observation,  is  always  on  the  side  of  simple 
truth  and  purity  of  living,  find  possesses  a high-minded  faith  in  the  power  of  the  Best,  and  a 
determination  to  aid  in  its  final  victory.” — Philadelphia  Press. 


LANDSCAPE.  Square  121110.  Price  $2.00. 

“ Mr.  Hamerton  in  sending  to  his  publishers,  Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers,  a complete  set  of 
proofs  for  the  library  edition,  says;  ‘ I have  done  all  in  my  power  to  make  “ Landscape  ” a 
readable  book.  It  is  not  mere  letter-press  to  illustrations,  or  anything  of  the  kind,  but  a book 
which,  I hope,  anybody  who  takes  any  interest  in  landscape  would  be  glad  to  possess.*  . . . 
The  subject  is  treated  from  all  sides  which  have  any  contact  with  art  or  sentiment,  — from  the 
side  of  our  illusions  ; our  love  for  nature  ; the  power  of  nature  over  us  ; nature  as  subjective ; 
verbal  description,  ‘word-painting;’  nature  as  reflected  by  Homer,  as  the  type  of  Greek 
nature-impression  ; by  Virgil  or  Latin,  Ariosto  or  Mediaeval ; then  as  studied  by  Wordsworth 
and  Lamartine,  as  types  of  English  and  French  ; from  its  relation  to  the  various  graphic  arts, 
its  characteristics  in  Great  Britain  and  in  France,  and  from  the  geography  of  beauty  and  art. 
Mountains  are  weighed  in  the  art  balances  ; lakes,  brooks,  rivulets,  and  rivers  in  their  degrees 
of  magnitude.  Then  man’s  work  on  rivers  and  their  use  in  art  are  considered ; then  trees, 
under  their  various  aspects ; then  the  effect  of  agriculture  on  landscape,  of  figures  and  animals, 
and  of  architecture.  ‘ The  two  immensities,’  sea  and  sky.  conclude.”  — The  Nation. 


Mr.  Hamerton’s  Works  (not  including  “ Etchers  and  Etching,” 
“ Imagination  in  Landscape  Painting,”  “ Paris,”  “ Painting  in 
France,”  “Contemporary  French  Painters,”  and  “A  Summer 
Voyage  on  the  Saone  ”)  may  be  had  in  uniform  binding.  15  vols. 
Square  i2mo.  Cloth,  price  $30.00;  half  calf,  price  $64.00.  A 
cheaper  edition,  15  vols.,  i6mo,  cloth,  Oxford  style,  $20.00  ; cloth, 
imitation  half  calf,  $24.00. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers.  Mailed , postpaid,  on  receipt  of  adver- 
tised price,  by 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  Publishers, 

Boston. 


7 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 


Life  of  Her  Majesty  .... 

QUEEN  VICTORIA. 

BY 

MILLICENT  GARRETT  FAWCETT. 

12mo.  Cloth.  Portrait.  Price,  $1.25. 


In  writing  her  “Life  of  Queen  Victoria”  the  author  has  very  wisely  refrained 
from  any  attempt  to  narrate,  even  in  outline,  the  history  of  the  salient  events  of 
the  Victorian  era.  She  has  concerned  herself  chiefly  with  what  she  calls  the  for- 
mative influences  that  have  helped  to  develop  the  character  of  Queen  Victoria,  and 
have  largely  determined  her  position  as  a woman,  and  her  career  as  a sovereign. 
Even  in  treating  the  political  and  personal  events  of  Queen  Victoria’s  later  reign, 
Mrs.  Fawcett  has  selected  and  dwelt  upon  those  which  serve  to  illustrate  the  char- 
acter of  the  queen  and  her  understanding  of  her  responsibilities  as  a ruler.  The 
tone  of  the  biography  is  naturally  laudatory,  — it  could  not  well  be  otherwise,  — but 
in  its  portrayal  of  a sympathetic,  considerate,  and  unpretentious  nature  it  keeps 
well  within  the  limits  of  that  impartial  spirit  which  should  always  animate  a biog- 
rapher. The  book  is  exceedingly  readable,  because  it  presents  the  leading  events  in 
the  queen’s  career  in  an  orderly  and  definite  way,  and  it  is  moreover  very  grace- 
fully written.  Selections  from  contemporary  memoirs  and  from  the  queen’s  own 
correspondence  and  diary  are  judiciously  used,  and  help  to  give  animation  to  the 
narrative.  The  book  has  a fine  frontispiece  portrait  from  a recent  photograph  of 
the  queen,  and  is  provided  with  a chronological  table  and  index.  — The  Beacon. 

Roberts  Brothers,  Boston,  publish  in  a volume  of  about  two  hundred  and  fifty 
pages  Millicent  Fawcett’s  useful  and  instructive  life  of  Queen  Victoria,  in  whom, 
the  author  conceives,  modern  constitutional  government  has  found  more  support 
and  development  than  in  any  other  royal  person.  Aided  by  the  queen’s  sagacity 
and  devotion  to  duty,  that  phase  of  human  polity  has  been  created,  in  the  author’s 
opinion.  And  this  theory  is  well  developed  in  the  chapters  of  the  book  which  give 
the  childhood  and  education  of  Victoria  ; her  accession  to  the  throne ; the  mingling 
of  politics  and  love  which  followed  ; the  leaning  in  difficult  affairs  of  state  upon  her 
young  German  husband,  without  alienating  her  loyal  and  faithful  ministeis;  the 
loss  of  that  husband  at  the  difficult  time  of  the  American  Civil  War,  in  which  he 
showed  himself  a friend  of  the  North ; the  queen’s  retirement  from  society  in  con- 
sequence, and  her  quiet  life  ever  since,  while  always  ready  for  her  duties  as  queen 
and  Empress  of  India.  The  home  life  of  the  royal  pair,  and  later,  of  the  queen 
alone,  at  Balmoral  and  Osborne,  and  her  more  stately  residences  in  London  and  at 
Windsor,  takes  up  several  chapters  of  exceptional  interest.  Chapter  IX.  is  entitled 
“ The  Nursery,”  and  its  duties  alone  would  have  engrossed  most  women  ; but  the 
queen  has  been  active  for  more  than  fifty  years  in  large  affairs  of  peace  and  war, 
and  shown  excellent  judgment  and  conduct  through  them  all.  There  are  portraits 
of  Her  Majesty  taken  in  1835,  and  again  by  photograph  in  later  years. — Brooklyn 
Eagle. 

One  of  the  special  charms  of  the  book  is  that  it  is  more  personal  than  political, 
— that  it  gives  us  the  always  to  be  desired  insight  into  the  home  and  the  domestic 
life  of  one  who  lives  so  much  in  the  glare  and  glamour  of  publicity.  — Advertiser. 


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Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 


THE  RIGHT  HONORABLE 


WILLIAM  E.  GLADSTONE 

ft  ia>tttUp  from  life 
By  HENRY  W.  LUCY. 

12mo.  Cloth.  Portrait.  Price,  $1.25. 


The  obvious  difficulty  of  writing  within  the  limits  of  this  volume  a sketch  of  the 
career  of  Mr  Gladstone  is  the  superabundance  of  material.  The  task  is  akin  to  that  of 
a builder  having  had  placed  at  his  disposal  materials  for  a palace,  with  instructions  to 
erect  a cottage  residence,  leaving  out  nothing  essential  to  the  larger  plan.  I have 
been  content,  keeping  this  condition  in  mind,  rapidly  to  sketch,  in  chronological 
order,  the  main  course  of  a phenomenally  busy  life,  enriching  the  narrative  wherever 
possible  with  autobiographical  scraps  to  be  found  in  the  library  of  Mr.  Gladstone’s 
public  speeches,  supplementing  it  by  personal  notes  made  over  a period  of  twenty 
years,  during  which  I have  had  unusual  opportunities  of  studying  the  subject. 
Author's  Preface. 

Mr.  Lucy  begins  with  the  boyhood  and  early  home-life  of  his  subject,  and  in  a 
series  of  twenty-six  graphic  chapters,  some  of  the  titles  of  which  are  “Member  for 
Newark,”  “Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer,”  “Premier,”  “Pamphleteer,”  “The 
Bradlaugh  Blight,”  “Egypt,”  “The  Kilmainham  Treaty,”  “The  Stop-Gap  Govern- 
ment,” “ Home  Rule,”  “ In  the  House  and  Out,”  Mr.  Lucy  has  drawn,  we  believe, 
the  most  accurate  portrait  of  one  of  the  greatest  men  of  the  century  yet  drawn,  and 
has  told  most  graphically,  tersely,  and  at  the  same  time  comprehensively,  the  story  of 
a great  career  not  yet  finished.  We  have  nowhere  seen  a better  description  of  Mr. 
Gladstone’s  methods,  of  his  strength  and  weakness  as  a debater,  than  Mr.  Lucy  gives 
us.  — Boston  A dvertiser. 

Mr.  Lucy  entitles  his  new  book  on  Gladstone  “A  Study  from  Life.”  It  is  more 
than  this,  for  the  book  covers  rapidly  his  whole  life,  from  birth  to  the  present  time, 
describing  with  tolerable  clearness  the  great  events  of  which  he  has  been  a part. 
For  an  outline  biography  the  reader  will  find  this  narrative  satisfactory  and  readable. 
But  the  greatest  interest  attaches  to  those  incidents  in  Gladstone’s  life  of  which  the 
writer  has  been  an  eye-witness.  He  describes  with  great  vivacity  the  parliamentary 
function  known  as  “drawing  old  Gladstone  out.”  — Advance. 

Roberts  Brothers,  Boston,  have  just  published  an  interesting  book  by  Henry  W. 
Lucy,  entitled  “Right  Honorable  W.  E.  Gladstone:  A Study  from  Life.”  Though 
not  necessarily  so  intended,  this  history  of  Gladstone  is  virtually  the  history  of  his 
country  during  the  period  of  his  ascendency  at  least,  and  the  book  is  valuable  from 
that  standpoint,  because  it  is  evidently  fairly  conceived  and  executed.  The  sketch  of 
Mr.  Gladstone  is  that  of  an  admirer,  but  that  will  not  tell  against  it  with  the  world  at 
large,  which  is  alone  an  admirer  of  the  “ Grand  Old  Man.”  Beginning  with  his  boy- 
hood, it  pictures  him  with  friendly  but  faithful  hand  to  the  end  of  his  career  as  head 
of  the  English  Government,  in  language  which  gives  an  additional  charm  to  the  book, 
tracing  his  course  from  the  day  he  became  Member  of  Parliament  till  he  was  the 
acknowledged  champion  of  Home  Rule,  and  showing  how,  as  his  mind  developed 
with  experience,  it  cast  off  original  errors  growing  larger  day  by  day  . — Brooklyn 
Citizen. 


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Messrs . Roberts  Brothers'  Publications , 


PRINCE  BISMARCK 

By  CHARLES  LOWE,  M.A., 

Author  of  Alexander  III.  of  Russia,  &c. 

12mo.  Cloth.  Portrait.  Price,  $1.25. 


This  work  of  Mr.  Lowe’s  responds  fully  to  the  need  that  has  been  felt,  particu- 
larly in  this  country,  for  a brief  but  comprehensive  life  of  Bismarck  It  comes  to  us 
from  an  author  of  acknowledged  reputation,  who  has  studied  the  career  of  the  Iron 
Chancellor  with  great  care,  and  undoubtedly  possesses  knowledge  of  his  subject  equal 
to  that  of  any  other  person.  It  is  the  second  biography  he  has  written  of  the  Chan- 
cellor. His  other  work  appeared  about  ten  years  ago  in  two  large  volumes,  in  which 
the  story  of  Bismarck’s  life  and  public  success  was  told  exhaustively,  full  use  being 
made  of  all  material  available  at  that  time. 

The  work  under  notice  is  in  no  sense  an  abridgment  of  the  earlier  biography,  but 
is  entirely  new.  In  writing  it,  though,  the  author  has  had  the  advantage  growing  out 
of  his  previous  undertaking,  of  knowing  his  man  thoroughly,  and  this  advantage  has 
enabled  him  to  write  in  a free  and  bold  style,  which  is  the  great  charm  in  a biograph- 
ical work.  *The  new  work  is  better  than  the  old  in  another  important  respect  also,  — 
it  is  up  to  date.  In  the  ten  years  that  have  elapsed  since  the  earlier  biography  was 
written,  a good  deal  has  been  learned  about  Bismarck  and  his  associates,  and  the 
work  they  were  engaged  in,  that  runs  contrary  to  the  theories  and  estimates  of  ten 
years  ago.  Mr.  Lowe  has  made  use  of  this  new  material. 

Still  another  advantage  has  been  the  knowledge  that  Bismarck’s  political  career 
has  ended.  The  view  that  is  now  presented  to  us  is  that  of  a finished  whole, — 
Bismarck  may  be  spared  for  years  to  enjoy  the  love  of  his  countrymen  and  the  high 
esteem  of  the  world,  but  he  never  again  will  serve  the  Empire  of  Germany  in  a public 
capacity. 

Mr.  Lowe’s  story  closes  with  an  account  of  the  reconciliation  between  Emperor 
William  and  Bismarck,  which  was  completed  a little  over  a year  ago,  when  the 
Emperor  sent  that  famous  steel  cuirass  to  Friedrichsruh.  “ May  the  solid  steel,” 
wrote  his  Majesty,  “which  is  to  cover  your  breast  be  regarded  as  the  symbol  of 
German  gratitude  which  enfolds  you  with  its  steadfast  loyalty,  and  to  which  I,  too, 
desire  to  give  my  eloquent  expression.”  “ I shall  don  this  new  breastplate,”  replied 
the  statesman  Prince,  “as  the  symbol  of  your  Majesty’s  gracious  favor,  and  leave  it  to 
my  children  as  a lasting  memento  of  the  same.” 

Mr.  Lowe  is  a warm  admirer  of  Bismarck,  and  his  admiration  shows  itself  in 
almost  every  page  of  his  book.  We  fail  to  notice,  however,  that  his  prejudice  has 
warped  his  judgment  of  persons  and  events.  He  has  written  a biography  that  is  as 
fair  as  anybody  could  write  at  this  time,  and  the  fact  that  he  has  a warm  place  in  his 
heart  for  the  Iron  Chancellor  certainly  is  not  to  his  discredit  as  a man  and  a historian. 
New  York  Times. 


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MR.  WILLIAM  MORRIS’S  WORKS. 


THE  EARTHLY  PARADISE 


& Collection  of  Cal eg  in  Uem. 


Parts  I.  and  II.  Vol.  I. 


Prologue,  March,  April,  May,  June,  July,  and  August, 
containing  the  Stories  of— 


The  Wanderers. 

Atalanta’s  Race. 

The  Man  bom  to  be  King. 
The  Doom  of  King  Acrisius. 
The  Proud  King. 

Cupid  and  Psyche. 


The  Writing  on  the  Image. 
The  Love  of  Alcestis. 

The  Lady  of  the  Land. 

The  Son  of  Croesus 
The  Watching  of  the  Falcon. 
Pygmalion  and  the  Image. 
Ogier  the  Dane. 


Part  III.  Vol.  II. 

September,  October,  and  November,  containing  the  Stories  of— 

The  Death  of  Paris.  The  Man  who  Never  Laughed 

The  Land  East  of  the  Sun  and  Again. 

West  of  the  Moon.  The  Story  of  Rhodope. 

Accontius  and  Cydippe.  The  Lovers  of  Gudrun. 

Part  IV.  Vol.  III. 

December,  January,  and  February,  Epilogue,  and  L’Envoi, 
containing  the  Stories  of  — 

The  Golden  Apples.  The  Ring  given  to  Venus. 

The  Fostering  of  Aslaug  Bellerophon  in  Lycia. 

Bellerophon  at  Argos.  The  Hill  of  Venus. 

COMPLETE  IN  THREE  VOLUMES. 

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The  Life  and  Death  of  Jason.  i6mo.  Cloth.  Price,  $1.50. 
Love  is  Enough  ; or,  The  Freeing  of  Pharamond.  A Morality. 
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The  Defence  of  Guenevere,  and  other  Poems.  Crown  8vo. 

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Hopes  and  Fears  for  Art.  i6mo.  Cloth.  Price,  $1.25. 

News  from  Nowhere  ; or,  An  Epoch  of  Rest.  Being  some  chap- 
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entitled  “Labour’s  May-Day.”  i6mo.  Price,  $1. 00. 

The  Lovers  of  Gudrun.  With  Frontispiece  from  Design  by 
Billings.  i6mo.  Price,  $1.00. 


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MR.  MORRIS'S  WORKS 


The  House  of  the  Wolfings.  A Tale  of  the  House  of  the  Wolfings 
and  all  the  Kindreds  of  the  Mark.  Written  in  Prose  and  in 
Verse.  i2mo.  Oxford  style.  $ 2.00 . 

The  story,  which  is  in  a strong  Homeric  vein  that  immediately  commands  and 
holds  attention,  takes  us  back  to  those  far-off  times  when  the  Goths  were  contending 
with  the  Romans.  It  is  written  in  both  prose  and  verse,  and  is  thereby  made  more 
continuously  interesting  for  the  general  reader  than  if  it  were  a purely  epic  poem.  It 
relates  to  a branch  of  the  Gothic  family  who  exhibited,  particularly  in  their  leader, 
Thiodolf,  many  noble  examples  of  heroism  and  self-sacrifice.  The  narrative  is 
pathetic,  inspiring,  and  worthy  of  the  author  of  “The  Earthly  Paradise,”  and  recalls 
a far-distant  past  with  a picturesque  fidelity  that  is  far  more  impressive  than  the  bald 
realism  which  too  many  believe  now  to  be  the  highest  art  in  story-telling.  It  has  an 
imaginative  fervor,  glow,  and  color  which  will  cause  it  to  be  read  and  re-read  by  those 
who  wish  to  escape  from  the  present  into  a world  of  romance  and  poetry.  This 
literary  jewel,  with  its  rich  and  appropriate  setting,  should  be  in  the  library  of  every 
genuine  book-lover.  — Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

The  Story  of  the  Glittering  Plain.  Which  has  been  also  called  the 
Land  of  Living  Men,  or  the  Acre  of  the  Undying.  i2mo.  $1.50. 

William  Morris  comes  to  us  again  with  another  of  his  delightful  “ sagas,”  full  of 
life  and  action  and  every  essential  human  sentiment.  He  is  a master  of  such  produc- 
tion, and  does  not  betray  himself  at  any  point  by  a false  note  or  by  false  color.  . . . 
The  saga  before  us  contains  a story  of  happy  life  and  prospective  wedded  joy  broken 
in  upon  by  capture,  of  a long  and  varied  search  for  his  loved  one  by  the  knight  of  the 
tale,  of  successful  return  from  all  dangers,  and  a final  re-entrance  into  the  hall  of  the 
kindred  in  “Cleveland  by  the  Sea.”  . . . This  saga  sings  itself  through  from  begin- 
ning to  end  in  a beautiful  melody.  The  prose  of  it  is  like  music,  and  the  little  inter- 
ludes of  song  fit  their  places  perfectly.  The  human  life  and  circumstances  of  the  saga 
are  drawn  from  ancient  Northern  times,  though  no  definite  sphere  is  entered;  and 
there  is  no  attempt  at  historical  suggestion,  as  in  “The  House  of  the  Wolfings.” 
This  is  simply  a sweet,  touching  saga  of  a brave,  patient,  faithful  human  love.  — 
Public  Opinion. 

Poems  by  the  Way.  i2mo.  $1.25. 

Those  who  feared  that  Mr.  William  Morris  would  be  made  less  of  a poet  by  his 
socialism  have  had  ample  reason  to  be  disappointed.  . . . The  originality  of  this 
volume  is  that  it  contains  several  poems  telling  us  something  which  Mr.  Morris  has 
hardly  told  us  in  print  before.  . . . The  whole  volume  not  only  betokens  a splendid 
vitality  of  gift  with  surprises  yet  in  store,  but  recalls  at  every  turn  that  its  author  is 
one  of  a famous  fraternity,  of  whom  one  other  still  survives,  and  who  have  been 
animated,  despite  all  their  differences,  by  a certain  common  spirit,  and  endowed  with 
a similar  cunning  in  the  craft  of  song.  — The  Academy. 

The  Wood  Beyond  the  World.  In  a crown  8vo  volume,  printed 
on  antique  English  paper,  with  decorative  cover. . Frontispiece 
by  E.  Burne-Jones.  $3.00. 

The  charm,  or  one  of  the  charms,  of  this  last  book  of  his  is  more  easily  felt  than 
described,  and  is  only  felt  in  the  feelings,  we  think,  by  those  who  are  enamoured  of 
the  invention  which  underlies  all  folk-lore,  the  element  of  fantasy,  with  or  without  a 
seeming  purpose,  containing  in  itself  its  excuse  for  being,  and  are  enamoured  at  the 
same  time  of  the  simple,  homely,  idiomatic  diction  which  characterized  the  early 
chroniclers  and  romancers,  and  of  which  Malory’s  6(  Morte  d Arthur  is  a fair 
example.  At  the  age  of  sixty,  or  thereabouts,  he  is  still  pouring  out  his  lovely  things, 
more  full  of  the  glory  of  youth,  more  full  of  romantic  adventure  and  romantic  love, 
than  any  of  the  beautiful  poems  in  his  first  volume.  By  the  side  of  this  exhaustless 
creator  of  youthful  and  lovely  things,  the  youngest  of  the  poets  who  have  just  appeared 
above  the  horizon  seems  faded  and  jaded.  — Mail  and  Express. 


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lew  -Ay 


